vx/   (  A> 


~ 


Y-  A. 


r^ 

AND  THISTLEDOWN. 


BY 
5.    Q.    LAPIUS. 


COLUMBUS,  o.  : 

HANN  &  ADAIR,  PRINTERS  AND   I;IM>I:K-S, 
1896. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1896,  by 

J.  B.  NAYLOR, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


PS 


X  V     ~     <- 


This  is  book  number....!.. j        of  an  author's 
edition  of  two  hundred  copies  only. 


\  vxx^\5  yp  OsJ^X  B  r 

o ^ 


INDEX. 

PAGE. 

After  the  Battle 17 

Along  the  Dust  White  River  Road 33 

A  Memory 146 

An  Autumn  Idyl 107 

An  OP  Time  Voleutiiie 125 

A  t  the  Country  Store 1 50 

Autumn 128 

A  Wild,  Wet  Night 80 

Blossom  and  Fruit Id!) 

Blue  Eyes  are  Peeping  at  Me  . .     56 

Campin'  Out 181 

Chris'mas  Down  at  Gran'pa's 1 10 

Cradle  and  Coffin 78 

Cupid  is  Abroad  To-Night 92 

Dan  Tucker 71 

Dedicatory 6 

Doodle-up,  Doodle-down 101 

Down  at  Hughes's  OP  Shop 1 1;4 

Easter  on  tue  Farm 168 

Far  Out  on  the  Azure  Sea 41 

Frolic  in  the  Firelight 2"> 

Goldenrod  and  Thistledown 7 

< ;  run  'daddy  Longlegs 54 

( iran'pa's  Chris'mas  in  the  City 176 

Gray  Dawn 31 

Here's  a  Glass  to  Old  Time 22 

He  wa-  My  Friend 1  ^ 

How  Santa  Clans  Comes 62 

Jack  Frost,  the  Artist 58 

Like  'er  Ma 143 

Lock-Tender  John .   s4 

Love  Astray 20 

Mine  Little  Comrade 51 

Miss  Dandeli'n  .  (t 


Money  Musk  131 

My  Pa  He's  'ist  a  Dockerrnan 153 

Newton  Ridge 47 

No  Chris'mas  Like  Ther'  Ust  to  Be 121 

Pop-Paw  Time 1 1  J> 

Shut-Eye  Town 18 

Sight-ou-Seeu 115 

Sleep 67 

Sometime  — Somewhere    4-"> 

Summer  Night 105 

'Tis  a  Rare  Old  World 49 

The  Big  Barn  Mow 134 

The  Buckwheat  Bloom 103 

The  Bumble  Bee 158 

The  Castle  of  Dreams 82 

The  Chipmunk 1  "> 

The  Country  Doctor !)5 

The  Final  Test US 

The  Honest  Old  Chestnut  Tree 13 

The  Little  White  School-House 160 

The  Mitten loo 

The  Night  Wind 1!) 

The  Old  Brass  Band l;!7 

The  OP  Fence  Row 185 

The  I'ixy  Bund ill) 

The  Summer  Shower 7(i 

The  Thunder  Storm 7»> 

That  Jolly  OP  Chap  in  the  Moon 140 

Three  Little  Soldiers 11 

Those  Summer  Days  of  Long  Ago us 

Turn  Back  the  Clock  of  Time .'17 

We're  a  Comiu'  to  V'r  Show 17:: 

When  the  Year  ( trows  Old ^7 

Who  Wins  His  Way  at  Home 4-"> 

Winter  Night  Lullaby :!!» 

Winter  in  the  I/i|>  o'  Spring K'>2 


DEDICATORY. 


To  mine  own  little  "pixy  band"- 
Of  whom  and  for  whom  many  of 
These  jingles  were  written  — this 
Book  is  lovingly  dedicated." 


Goldenrod  and  Thistledown. 

O,   little  book  !     And  everywhere 

Thou  goest  banish  darksome  care- 
God's  gladsome  sunshine  furnish  free 
To  every  heart  that  asketh  thee ; 
Until  each  face  of  youth  or  age 
That  bendeth  o'er  thy  printed  page 
Doth  welcome  thee  with  smile  and  nod 
Far  brighter  than  the  goldenrod  ! 

Go,  little  book — and  fare-thee-well ! 
What  fate  awaitheth,  none  may  tell. 
But  where  thou  bidest  be  thy  part 
To  lift  and  gladden  some  sad  heart; 
To  tinge  and  brighten  some  dark  place, 
And  chase  away  from  some  wan  face 
The  soul-sick  look,  the  work-worn  frown — 
More  lightly  than  the  thistledown  ! 

—  S.  Q.  L. 

MALTA,  OHIO,  July  2o,  1896. 


GOLDENROD    AND    TH ISTLEDOWN. 

Miss   Dandeli'n. 

T     ITTLE  Miss  Dandeli'n,  roguish  and  fair, 

Shakes  her  gold  curls  in  the  soft  summer  air; 
Lifts  her  wee  face  to  the  bold,  smiling  sun — 
Waiting  for  kisses.     Ah,  isn't  it  fun  ! 
Has  for  proprieties  never  a  care — 
Little  Miss  Dandeli'n,  roguish  and  fair! 

Pretty  Miss  Dandeli'n,  sweet  and  demure, 
Thoughts  of  a  lover  can  scarcely  endure  ; 
Hides  her  fresh  face  from  the  sun's  ardent  gaze, 
Ponders  and  dreams  through  the  long  summer  days. 
Older  and  wiser  she's  grown,  to  be  sure- 
Pretty  Miss  Dandeli'n,  sweet  and  demure  ! 

Stately  Miss  Dandeli'n,  prim  and  precise, 
Swaying  her  willowy  form  to  entice 
One  chilly  smile  from  her  recreant  love, 
Swinging  his  way  through  the  blue  arc  above. 
Tresses  of  silver  and  features  of  ice- 
Stately  Miss  Dandeli'n,  prim  and  precise. 


10  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDO WN. 

Faded  Miss  Dandeli'n,  grim  and  austere, 
Watches  and  waits  for  her  love  to  appear  ; 
Learning  the  lesson  so  bitter  to  learn — 
Love  once  rejected  may  never  return. 
Over  her  memory  drop  we  a  tear — 
Faded  Miss  Dandeli'n,  grim  and  austere ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  11 

Three  Little  Soldiers. 

T^HREE  little  soldiers — paper  caps, 

Corn-stalk  guns  and  shoulder  straps — 
Harked  to  the  spring  bird's  early  call ; 
Shouldered  arms,  and  one  and  all 
Dropped  into  line  and  marched  one  day, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

Three  little  soldiers,  tired  and  sore, 
Back  from  the  bloodless,  mimic  war, 
Clustered  around  their  mother's  knee — 
Told  their  tales  in  childish  glee ; 
Tales  of  a  mock-heroic  fray 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

^  '•','-  %•  :;;  *  ^  %  % 

Three  bonny  youths  — their  mother's  pride — 
With  tear-dimmed  eyes  and  hurried  stride, 
Left  at  their  bleeding  country's  call 
Home  and  kindred  — all  in  all; 
Went  in  the  morning  cold  and  gray, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  a\vav. 


1-  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Under  their  blood-stained  uniform 
Three  young  hearts,  once  brave  and  warm, 
Stirred  by  the  bugle's  piercing  peal, 
Throb  no  more  with  loyal  zeal. 
Three  sturdy  forms  are  lifeless  clay — 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  13 


The  Honest  Old  Chestnut  Tree. 

OUCH  an  honest  old  tree  ! 

And  he  smiled  as  he  stood 
Like  a  giant  of  eld, 
In  the  edge  of  the  wood  ; 
For  the  summer  was  ended, 
The  autumn  grown  old, 
And  his  pockets  were  bulging 
With  treasures  of  gold. 

But  that  imp  of  the  universe, 
Cunning  Jack  Frost — 
Caring  much  for  a  frolic 
And  naught  for  the  cost — 
Won  the  Old  Chestnut's  heart 
By  his  flattering  wiles, 
Till  he  showered  down  the  gold 
In  great  glittering  piles. 


14  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Not  content  with  all  this 
Jack  must  do  even  worse, 
So  he  loosened  the  strings 
Of  the  poor  fellow's  purse  ; 
Then  he  called  in  the  wind — 
'Twas  a  little  too  bad— 
And  together  they  took 
Every  coin  that  he  had. 

Yes,  they  left  the  Old  Chestnut 

To  hunger  and  cold, 

And  remorselessly  squandered 

His  treasures  of  gold  ; 

And  they  chuckled  and  whistled 

In  infinite  glee, 

At  the  joke  they  had  played 

On  the  honest  old  tree. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  15 


The  Chipmunk. 

A     JOLLY  well-fed  monk  is  he 

With  fat-jowled  face  and  unshorn  crown. 
A  world  of  knavish  thievery 
Is  hid  beneath  that  striped  gown. 
He  comes  not  with  extended  palms— 
A  begging  friar  trusting  luck  ; 
He  has  no  need  of  people's  alms, 
This  thievish  woodman — Friar  Tuck. 

He's  quite  devout;  he  tells  his  beads 
With  worthy  zeal,  at  night  and  morn — 
What  matter  that  they're  golden  seeds 
From  some  poor  farmer's  field  of  corn  ! 
He  claims  to  live  a  celibate- 
Yet  I  believe,  without  a  doubt, 
That  I  have  seen  his  black-eyed  mate 
Peep  from  the  door,  when  he  was  out! 


16  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Within  his  narrow,  leaf-lined  cells, 
Securely  hidden  'neath  the  ground, 
This  feasting,  plethoric  rascal  dwells ; 
His  ill-got  booty  piled  around. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  his  guile, 
He's  seldom  greeted  with  a  frown  ; 
More  often  he  receives  a  smile — 
The  monk  that  wears  a  striped  gown. 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  17 

After  the  Battle. 

A     RIDERLESS  horse  in  the  leafy  lane, 
Covered  with  foam,  and  the  broken  rein 

Trailing  beneath  his  feet ; 
A  pale,  ghastly  face  in  the  wan  moonlight, 
Washed  by  the  dews  of  the  silent  night, 
Free  from  the  dust  and  heat. 

A  blood-stained  coat — and  a  broken  blade 
Gripped  by  a  powder-grimed  hand,  that  laid 

Many  a  foeman  low  ; 
A  hoof-beaten  field  and  a  crimson  sod 
Mark  where  the  demon  of  death  has  trod, 

Smiting  both  friend  and  foe. 

LE  ENVOI. 

A  maiden  leans  far  o'er  her  window-sill, 
Waiting  and  watching  and  longing — still 

Fearing  the  news  to  learn. 
The  sounds  of  retreat  swell  the  midnight  air; 
She  brushes  a  tear,  as  she  utters  a  prayer. 

For  him  who  will  ne'er  return  ! 


18  GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN. 

Shut-Eye  Town. 

WHEN  the  bees  came  in  from  their  work  to 
rest, 

And  the  shadows  crept  o'er  the  dark'ning  west ; 
When  the  swallows  slept  'neath  the  sloping  eaves, 
And  the  night  dew  moistened  the  drooping  leaves  ; 
When  the  stars  peeped  out  and  the  sun  went  down, 
Then  the  baby  started  for  Shut-Eye  Town. 

When  the  bees  returned  to  the  honeyed  feast, 
And  the  shadows  swept  from  the  bright'ning  east ; 
When  the  swallows  chirped  in  the  apple  trees, 
And  the  moist  leaves  stirred  in  the  morning  breeze ; 
When  the  sun  peeped  up  and  the  stars  went  down, 
Then  the  baby  parted  from  Shut-Eye  Town. 

LE   ENVOI. 

But  she  smiled  at  the  close  of  one  summer  day — 
Then  she  softly,  silently  slipped  away  ; 
And  that  city  old  must  be  wondrous  fair, 
For  the  darling  child  is  still  ling'ring  there ; 
So  our  eyes  are  wet  and  our  hearts  bowed  down 
That  our  precious  baby's  at  Shut-Eye  Town. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  li> 

The  /Night  Wind. 

LAUGHING  and  crying,  the  Night  Wind  came 
Over  the  hills  from  the  boundless  West — 
Sounding  the  trump  of  immortal  fame, 
Bearing  a  message  of  sin  and  shame, 
Or  a  sigh  from  a  childless  mother's  breast ; 
Laughing  that  life  is  a  summer  day, 
Crying  that  men  grow  old  and  gray  ! 

Rejoicing  and  sobbing,  the  Night  Wind  sped 
Over  the  hills  to  the  distant  East- 
Sobbing  with  those  who  were  watching  the  dead, 
Writh  the  fatherless  one  that  was  crying  for  bread, 
And  rejoicing  with  those  at  the  marriage  feast; 
Sobbing  that  life  is  a  brittle  span, 
Rejoicing  that  'tis  not  the  all  of  man. 

Coming  and  going,  the  Night  Wind  said : 
41  I  laugh  with  the  living,  careless  and  gay ; 
I  sigh  for  the  dying  and  weep  o'er  the  dead, 
And  rejoice  with  those  that  are  newly  wed, 
And  sorrow  with  those  that  watch  and  pray — 
For  the  current  of  life  gleams  bright  in  the  sun, 
Then  swift  through  the  dismal  shades  must  run !" 


20  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Love  Astray. 


O 


!  he  went  astray 
At  the  peep  'o  day, 

With  his  lute  strings  all  a-tinkle, 
With  his  head  upright 
And  his  face  alight, 

And  his  merry  eyes  a-twinkle. 
Where  the  daisies  nod 
O'er  the  roadside  sod, 

And  the  chipmunk  finds  a  cover, 
Where  the  dust  is  gray 
Down  the  broad  highway, 

Are  the  tracks  of  my  truant  lover. 

Then  his  course  he  took 
O'er  the  pebbly  brook 

And  across  the  fields  of  clover, 
Where  the  wild  bees  boom 
In  the  fragrant  bloom 

And  the  sunshine  dances  over ; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  21 

And  his  nimble  feet 

Trod  the  golden  wheat 
Where  the  shy  quails  pipe  and  hover, 

And  the  pathway  brown 

Toward  the  distant  town 
Bears  the  tracks  of  my  truant  lover. 

Ah  !  the  hours  slip  by 

And  I  seek  him  high 
And  low — 'tis  a  sad  endeavor  ! 

For  his  voice  is  mute 

And  his  tinkling  lute 
Seems  lost  and  gone  forever. 

And  my  heart  strings  ache — 

And  my  heart  strings  break — 
As  I  onward  toil  to  find  him  ; 

But  the  quest  is  vain, 

For  the  prize  I  gain- 
Is  the  tracks  he  leaves  behind  him ! 


22  GOLDENROD   AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

•Here's  a  Glass  to  Old  Time. 

T  T  ERE'S  a  glass  to  old  Time  !     Not  the  one  that 

he  bears 

To  measure  humanity's  sorrows  and  cares, 
But  a  glass  of  cut  crystal,  whose  sparkles  combine 
With  the  crimson  and  gold  of  its  honey  and  wine. 
Let  us  drink,  as  our  lips  to  the  goblet  we  press, 
To  the  hope  that  his  shadow  may  never  grow  less  ; 
And  extolling  his  virtues  in  metrical  rhyme 
Drain  a  bumper — a  beaker — to  old  Father  Time. 

In  the  morning  of  life  when  we  tickle  our  toes 
With   the  sedges   that  grow    where   the   meadow 

brook  flows, 
When  our  hearts  are  as  light  as  the  zephyr  that 

trips 

To  the  hum  of  the  bee,  where  the  honey-dew  drips ; 
Then  old  Time  is  our  comrade — our  leader,  I  ween, 
And  we  faithfully  follow  through  shadow  and  sheen, 
With  our  faces  aglow  and  our  bare  feet  agrime — 
Here's  a  beaker — a  bumper — to  old  Father  Time. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  23 

In  the  sultry  noontide,  when  the  road  trails  away 
O'er  the  hilltops  afar,  like  a  ribbon  of  gray  ; 
When  our  hearts  are  aflame  and  our  temples  abeat 
And  we're  bearded  and  bronzed  in  the  midsummer 

heat; 

Then  old  Time  is  our  helper — abroad  in  the  fields 
He  garners  the  gold  that  the  harvest  land  yields. 
Side  by  side  to  the  summit  of  manhood  we  climb — 
Let  us  quaff  to  the  friendship  of  old  Father  Time  ! 

In  the  sweet,  dewy  eve,  when  we're  kissed  by  the 

breath 

Of  the  mists  that  arise  from  the  river  of  death, 
Hand  in  hand  with  old  Time  we  stray  down  to  the 

boat 

And  he  aids  us  in  setting  our  frail  craft  afloat ; 
With  a  sweep  of  his  scythe  he  divides  the  last  strand 
Of    the  rope — then  he  waves  a  farewell  with   his 

hand. 

'Tis  the  act  of  a  friend,  free  from  malice  or  crime — 
Here's  a  tear  to  the  memory  of  old  Father  Time ! 


24  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN 

Then  a  glass  to  old  Time !      Not   the  one    that 

empow'rs 
Him  to  measure  our  lives   by  the  length  of  the 

hours ; 

But  a  goblet  of  crystal,  whose  sparkles  combine 
With  the  crimson  and  gold  of  its  honey  and  wine. 
Let  us  drink  to  his  health,  to  his  boundless  success, 
To  the  hope  that  his  shadow  may  never  grow  less  ; 
And  recounting  his  favors  in  metrical  rhyme — 
Drain  a  bumper — a  beaker — to  old  Father  Time  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  25 


Frolic  in  the  Firelight. 

OH  !  the  firelight  plays  on  the  cabin  wall 
As  the  beech  wood  snaps  and  crackles ; 
And  the  eight-day  clock  standing  stiff  and  tall, 
Seems  to  nod  and  smile  to  the  merry  call, 
Till  the  hoarse  wind  mutters,  u  Balance  all!" 
Then  the  dancers  slip  their  shackles. 

They  are  boots  and  shoes  in  a  zigzag  row, 
Now  freed  from  the  feet  that  wore  them  ; 

And  they  all  leap  forth  in  the  firelight's  glow, 

And  they  madly  caper  heel-and-toe, 

And  the  music  sounds  and  the  sweet  strains  flow 
From  the  crackling  blaze  before  them. 

There  are   Tom's  old    shoes,   with    their  knotted 
string, 

And  they  join  in  a  noisy  scuffle  ; 
There  are  grandpa's  pumps,  and  they  quickly  swing 
Into  line  and  skip  to  the  Highland  Fling, 
Or  they  nimbly  cut  the  Pigeon  Wing 

And  indulge  in  a  double-shuffle. 


26  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Yes,  and  grandma's  sandals  swiftly  wheel 

At  the  touch  of  the  inspiration  ; 
And  they  trip  with  a  clicking  toe  and  heel 
To  the  time  of  the  Old  Virginia  Reel, 
Till  they  wildly  whirl  as  they  seem  to  feel 
A  breath  from  the  old  plantation. 

Then  the  tiny  shoes  that  the  baby  wore 
Tread  light  to  the  happy  measure  ; 
And  the  father's  boots — they  are  tens  or  more — 
Crash  down  on  the  sanded  cabin  floor, 
While  the  old  house  shakes  and  the  rafters  roar 
With  the  boisterous  sounds  of  pleasure. 

But  the  best  of  all,  in  the  golden  dusk, 
Are  the  mother's  slippers  dancing; 
L,ike  the  thistledown  or  the  rustling  husk, 
As  the  night  wind  whistles  loud  and  brusque 
To  the  ancient  tune  of  Money  Musk, 

And  the  firelight  gleams  are  glancing. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  27 

So  they  dance  till  the  fire  burns  dim  and  low 
And  the  hearth  grows  cold  before  them ; 
Till  the  fading  fire-beams  come  and  go 
And  the  black  shades  stagger  to  and  fro, 
Then  they  all  slip  back  in  their  zigzag  row, 
To  be  found  by  the  feet  that  wore  them. 


28  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

The  Final   Test. 

WHEN  all  is  said  and  all  is  done, 
When  all  is  lost  or  all  is  won — 
In  spite  of  musty  theory, 
Of  purblind  faith  and  vain  conceit, 
Of  barren  creed  and  sophistry  ; 
In  spite  of  all — success,  defeat — 
The  judge  applies  to  worst  and  best, 
Impartially,  this  final  test : 

What  hast  thou  done  with  brawn  and  brain 

To  help  the  world  to  lose  or  gain 

An  onward  step?     Canst  reckon  one 

Unselfish,  brave  or  noble  deed) 

That  thou — nor  counting  cost — hast  done 

To  help  a  brother's  crying  need  ? 

Not  what  professed  nor  what  believed — 

But  what  good  thing  hast  thou  achieved  ! 

Yea  !  what  attempted — what  achieved  ? 
Be  not  dismayed,  be  not  deceived  ! 
The  tinsel  bauble  called  success — 
The  dross  of  wealth,  the  gloss  of  fame — 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  29 

That  men  throw  up  their  hands  to  bless, 
Is  but  an  empty  breath — a  name. 
Far  better  is  one  word  that  slips 
In  blessing  from  a  beggar's  lips ! 

I  hold  to  this :     The  loftiest  soul 
Of  one  great  universal  whole, 
Is  but  a  weak  and  meager  part ; 
The  lowliest,  by  impulse  fired 
To  worthy  act  of  brain  or  heart, 
Is  heaven  blessed  and  God-inspired — 
A  bit  of  his  most  wonderous  plan  ; 
And  each  a  clod,  and  each  a  man  ! 

The  chosen  few  !     Prate  not  to  me 

Of  consecrated  sanctity  ; 

Nor  stifle  me,  nor  hedge  me  round 

With  puzzles  algebraical, 

To  prove  that  this  is  holy  ground— 

'Tis  simply  pharisaical! 

God's  heart  of  love  is  deep  and  wide, 

And  each  soul  has  a  place  inside. 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN. 

When  all  is  said  and  all  is  done — 

The  battle  lost,  the  battle  won — 

In  spite  of  ancient  theory, 

Of  purblind  faith  and  fruitless  quest, 

Of  threadbare  creed  and  sophistry ; 

In  spite  of  all — this  is  the  test : 

What  hast  thou  done  with  brawn  or  brain 

To  help  the  world  a  step  to  gain ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  31 

Gray  Dawn. 

'"PHE  dense  white  fog  in  drowsy  folds 
Bedecks  the  sleeping  river's  bed  ; 
About  the  hills  it  hangs  and  holds — 
In  ragged  patches  overhead, 
It  slowly,  idly,  drifts  away. 
The  sullen  mill-dam  booms  and  roars, 
And  drenched  with  clouds  of  flying  spray 
The  wet,  black  rocks  along  the  shores 
Frown  darkly  at  the  coining  day. 

Gray  dawn  peeps  in  and  sweetly  smiles; 
A  light  breeze  sweeping  down  the  stream, 
Lifts  high  the  fog  in  snowy  piles ; 
The  sun's  first  burning  lances  gleam 
Along  the  pebbled  river  banks, 
And  misty  hosts  in  mad  retreat, 
Withdraw  their  broken,  scattered  ranks; 
The  bold  sun  marks  their  sad  defeat 
And  dissipates  their  struggling  flanks. 


32         GOLDENROD  AND  TH  ISTLDDOWN. 

Gray  dawn  gives  place  to  ruddy  day, 
The  great  sun  swings  thro'  azure  skies ; 
And  skimming,  where  the  ripples  play, 
The  screaming  fish-hawks  fall  and  rise. 
The  glassy  water,  cool  and  clear, 
Reflects  one  solitary  cloud  ; 
And  morning  song-birds,  far  and  near, 
Repeat  their  matins  shrill  and  loud : 
"  The  night  is  done  and  day  is  here." 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  33 


Along  the  Dust-White  *River 
"Road. 

A  LONG  the  dust-white  river  road 

The  morning  sun  beams  cringe  and 

crawl. 

And  in  and  out  among  the  trees, 
Stirred  gently  by  the  lazy  breeze, 
The  tipsy  shadows  slip  and  sprawl ; 
They  stagger  o'er  the  prickly  wall 
Of  verdant  hedge,  and  through  the  wheat, 
With  tossing  arms  and  flying  feet, 
They  nimbly  dodge  and  madly  run, 
Spurred  onward  by  the  rising  sun. 
A  squirrel  startled  by  the  sound 
Of  wheels  upon  the  sun-parched  ground, 
Forsakes  the  breakfast  he  has  found 
And  seeks  his  sheltering  abode 
Across  the  dust-white  river  road. 


34  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Along  the  dust-white  river  road 

The  saucy  red-bird  chirps  and  trills ; 

His  liquid  notes  resound  and  rise 

Until  they  meet  the  cloudless  skies 

And  echo  o'er  the  distant  hills. 

He  steals,  this  rogue  of  crimson  hue, 

The  poplar's  cup  of  honey-dew, 

And  drains  with  many  a  gurgling  note, 

Tne  contents  down  his  pulsing  throat. 

The  burning  sun  climbs  high  and  higher, 

The  noontide  hour  draws  nigh  and  nigher, 

The  bird  forgets  his  cheery  code 

And  hides  his  drooping  wings  of  fire 

Among  the  leaves  along  the  road. 

Along  the  dust-white  river  road 
The  fiery  mid-day  glare  pours  down  ; 
The  drowsy  waters  shimmer  o'er 
The  shining  sands  along  the  shore, 
And  out  across  the  meadows  brown 
A  stillness  like  the  hush  of  death 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  35 

Is  mingled  with  the  sultry  breath 
Of  timothy  and  clover  blooms. 
One  solitary  work-bee  booms 
Across  the  shorn  and  barren  fields, 
Swift  bent  upon  his  homeward  way ; 
But  overcome  by  heat  he  yields 
And  seeks  a  shelt'ring  wisp  of  hay. 
A  yoke  of  oxen  pant  and  sway 
Beneath  the  driver's  heavy  goad ; 
The  laden  wagon  grinds  and  groans 
And  rattles  o'er  the  heated  stones 
Along  the  dust-white  river  road. 

Along  the  dust- white  river  road  ! 
The  weary  sun  plods  down  the  west ; 
The  silent  shadows  trooping  back 
Upon  their  morning-traveled  track, 
Among  the  waters  sink  to  rest. 
The  speeding  sun  beams  leave  the  hills, 
And  fling  their  gorgeous  banners  high 
Against  the  mottled,  western  sky  ; 


36  GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN. 

And  coming  night  the  valley  fills 
With  dewy  odors,  strange  and  sweet, 
Of  fresh-mowed  hay  and  rip'ning  wheat ; 
And  like  a  benediction  rare — 
Borne  gently  on  the  evening  air — 
Adown  the  highway  comes  the  sound 
Of  merry  voices,  homeward  bound. 
Like  giant  specters,  grimly  loom 
The  patient  oxen  and  their  load, 
And  disappear  within  the  gloom 
Along  the  dust-white  river  road. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  37 


Turn  Back  the  Clock  of  Time. 

TURN  back  the  clock  of  time ;   let  the  hands 
mark  morning, 

Still  the  weary  pendulum  and  bind  and  leave  it  so ; 
Write   upon   the   dial   then,    to    give   the   people 

warning. 
"  We  have  drifted  backward  to  the  days  of  long 


ago." 


Roll  back  the  wheels  of  time  ;  let  each  rosy  second 
Lengthen  into  minutes  as  it  dallies  to  and  fro ; 

Let  the  bright  hours  linger  and  the  sunny  days 

be  reckoned 
Only  by  the  bird-notes  of  the  dreamy  long  ago. 

Turn  back  the  clock  of  time  ;  let  the  clear  brook's 

ripple 

Whisper  of  the  long  ago,  amid  the  sun  and  gloom  ; 
Let  the  brown  bees  hear  the  welcome  message  as 

they  tipple 
At  the  golden  nectar  of  the  fragrant  clover  bloom. 


38  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Roll  back  the  wheels  of  time — hesitate  no  longer; 
Youthful  days  were  better  far  than  present  days, 

I  know. 
Let  the  dim   eyes  brighten  and  the  feeble  limbs 

grow  stronger, 
Basking  in  the  sunshine  of  the  balmy  long  ago. 

Turn  back  the  clock  of  time  ;  let  the  hands  mark 

morning, 
Still  the   weary  pendulum  and  bind  and  leave 

it  so ; 
Write  upon    the  dial   then,    to    give  the    people 

warning. 

"  We  have  drifted  backward  to  the  days  of  long 
ago.'' 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  39 


Winter  /Night  Lullaby. 

OH,  the  winds  sweep  high  and  the  winds  sweep 
low- 

Rock-a-by,  baby,  by ! 

And  they  whimper  and  howl  as  they  come  and  go, 
With  their  teeth  of  ice  and  their  tongues  of  snow — 

Rock-a-by,  baby,  by ! 

While  the  clouds  scud  fast,  and  the  paly  moon 
Chuckles  and  winks,  and  the  firelight  roon 
Flickers  and  flits  to  the  wild  winds'  croon — 
Rock-a-by,  baby,  rock-a-by  ! 
Rock-a-by,  baby,  by ! 


Oh,  the  winds  sweep   low   and  the  winds  sweep 
high— 

Hush-a-by,  darling,  hush ! 
For  there's  never  a  star  in  the  midnight  sky, 
And  the  gaunt  trees  moan  as  the  winds  go  by — 

Hush-a-by,  darling,  hush  ! 


40  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

But  the  fire  glows  red  and  the  hearth  grows  warm, 
And  you're  cuddled  and  pressed  to  your  mother's 

form, 

And  sheltered  and  safe  from  the  howling  storm — 
Hush-a-by,  darling,  hush-a-by  ! 
Hush-a-by,  darling,  hush  ! 

Oh,  the  winds  sweep  slow  and  the  winds  sweep 
fast! 

Sleep-a-by,  dearie,  sleep ! 
For  the  snowflakes  ride  on  the  wintry  blast, 
And  they  dally  and  dance  as  the  winds  go  past — 

Sleep-a-by,  dearie,  sleep  ! 

Let  the  winds  sweep  high,  let  the  winds  sweep  low. 
Let  the  winds  sweep  fast,  let  the  winds  sweep  slow, 
There  is  never  a  hurt  for  my  dearie— oh  ! 

Sleep-a-by,  dearie,  sleep-a-by  ; 
Sleep-a-by,  dearie,  sleep ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  41 


Far  Out  on  the  Azure  Sea, 


CAR  out  on  the  beautiful  azure  sea 

That  mortals  call  the  sky, 
Where  the  feathery  vapors  drift  to  lee 

As  the  soft  winds  idle  by  ; 
Where  the  lightsome  ripples  play  and  run 
From  the  dawn  of  day  to  the  set  of  sun, 
There  the  fairy  islands  of  cloudland  be  — 
Far  out  on  the  azure  sea. 


Far  out  on  the  darkening  azure  sea 

In  the  starbeam's  paly  light, 
Where  the  skeleton  shadows  flit  and  flee 

Through  the  warm  midsummer  night ; 
Where  the  bright  waves  dance  in  their  silver  shoon 
'Round  the  crescent  shallop  we  call  the  moon, 
There  the  crystal  castles  of  cloudland  be — 
Far  out  on  the  azure  sea. 


42  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Far  out  on  the  turbulent,  azure  sea 

Where  the  grim  gods  wage  their  war, 
Where  the  maniac  winds  sport  wild  and  free 

And  the  storm-guns  flash  and  roar; 
There  the  crescent  shallop  finds  a  grave, 
O'erwhelmed  in  the  vaporous,  foam-capped  wave, 
And  the  ruined  ramparts  of  cloudland  be — 
Far  out  on  the  azure  sea. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  43 


Sometime— So  mewh  ere. 

OOMETIME — somewhere — be  it  soon  or  late, 

At  the  daylight's  close  or  its  dawning, 
We  shall  wrestle  awhile  with  the  guards  of  fate 
And  at  last  steal  out  through  the  western  gate 
Where  the  desert  of  death  is  yawning ; 
And  alone  in  the  noonday  glaring  white, 
Or  abroad  with  the  shades  of  the  black  midnight, 
We  shall  traverse  the  sands  till  a  city  fair 
Shall  arise  in  the  distance — sometime — somewhere! 

Sometime — somewhere — be  it  late  or  soon, 

At  the  daylight's  dawn  or  its  closing ; 

In  the  langorous  hush  of  the  sultry  noon— 

In  the  wan  midnight  with  its  tawny  moon— 

We  shall  gaze  on  that  scene  imposing ; 

And  the  gates  of  the  city  shall  open  wide, 

And  kissed  by  the  breath  of  the  flowers  inside 

Shall  our  hearts  be  healed  of  their  cankered  care, 

And  we  shall  be  happy — sometime — somewhere  ! 


44  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Sometime — somewhere — oh,  glorious  thought ! 
With  the  desert  of  death  behind  us, 
We  shall  rest  in  the  land  that  our  hearts  have  sought, 
And  shall  feast  on  the  sweets  that  His  love  has 

bought — 

And  where  never  a  want  can  find  us. 
With  the  intricate  puzzles  of  life  made  straight, 
And  our  burdens  piled  high  at  the  outer  gate, 
We  shall  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  love  ;  and  there 
Shall  be  happy  forever — sometime — somewhere  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  45 


Who  Wins  His  Way  at  Home. 


honor  to  the  man  who  goes 
In  quest  of  unknown  lands ; 
Who  braves  the  waste  of  arctic  snows— 

The  reach  of  tropic  sands  ; 
Who  leaves  a  wake  across  the  lakes 

Or  o'er  the  salt-sea  foam, 
Bnt  honor  more  to  him  who  makes 
Discoveries  at  home. 

Due  credit  to  the  man  who  wars 

Beneath  death's  sable  wing, 
Who  plants  his  flag  on  foreign  shores, 

And  conquers  court  and  king ; 
Who  takes  his  bright,  keen  sword  and  writes 

His  name  on  heaven's  dome — 
But  credit  more  to  him  who  fights 

His  battles  hire  at  home. 


46  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

The  man  who  conquers  homely  hate  — 

L/ives  opposition  down, 
Is  fit  to  rank  among  the  great  — 

Is  worthy  of  a  crown. 
Upon  the  gilded  page  of  fame, 

Within  truth's  massy  tome, 
By  rightful  claim  should  be  his  name— 

Who  wins  his  way  at  home. 

All  honor  hath  the  prophet,  save 

Within  his  native  land  — 
E'en  fools  are  great  who  find  a  grave 

Upon  a  foreign  strand. 
The  native  sage  but  lives  and  dies 

To  feed  earth's  fertile  loam  ; 
His  credit  lies  beyond  the  skies  — 

He  gets  none  here  at  home. 


'Tis  better  to  be  best  in  Gaul 
Than  second  best  at  Rome  ; 

'Tis  well  to  be  the  best  at  ail- 
But  better,  best  at  home. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


/Newton  "Ridge. 

TIP  the  long  Newton  Ridge  where  the  highroad 
^^          of  gray 

Lies  asleep  in  the  blaze  of  the  hot  summer  day, 
Where  the  byroads  and  hedges  are  drowsily  sweet 
With  the  smell  that  exhales  from  the  clover  and 

wheat ; 
There  the  fields  are  as  green  and  the  flow'rs  are  as 

fair, 

And  the  lights  on  the  scene  are  as  rich  and  as  rare 
As  they  were  in  the  days  of  my  youth,  when  I 

played 
At  the  turn  of  the  road,  in  the  apple  tree's  shade. 


Up  the  long  Newton  Ridge !     Why,  it  seems  but 

a  night 

Since  I  gazed  up  the  road,  as  it  trailed  out  of  sight, 
And  I  thought  that  the   dust-cloud,  the  summer 

breeze  whirled 
O'er  the  treetops  afar,  marked  the  end  of  the  world ; 


48  GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN. 

And  the  village  whose  chimneys  were  issuing  forth 
'Their  black  volumes  of  smoke,  a  few  miles  to  the 

north, 

Was  a  city  of  wealth  whose  inhabitants  rolled 
O'er  their  pavements  of  pearl,  in  their  coaches  of 

gold. 

Up  the  long  Newton  Ridge — I  am  dreaming  to-day 
Of  its  by-roads  of  green  and  its  high-roads  of  gray  ; 
And  my  soul's  peeping  back  through  a  chink  in 

the  wall 

Of  the  years  that  divide,  as  I  strive  to  recall 
All    the   dear   sunny   faces    that   smiled   as   they 

played 

At  the  turn  of  the  road,  in  the  apple  tree's  shade; 
And  the  song  in  my  heart  is  a  plank  in  the  bridge 
Over  which  I  stray  back  to  that  long  Newton 

Ridge. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  49 


Tis  a  Rare  Old  World 


T 


'IS  a  rare  old  world, 

'Tis  a  fair  old  world 
That  unfolds  to  our  mortal  view ; 

With  the  mountains  green 

And  the  seas  between, 
And  the  clouds  in  the  arching  blue ; 

With  the  fragrant  flow'rs 

And  the  dewy  bow'rs — 
A  most  beautiful  place,  I  ween. 

'Tis  a  neat  old  world 

And  a  sweet  old  world — 
And  the  best  we  have  ever  seen. 

'Tis  a  bright  old  world, 

'Tis  a  light  old  world. 
Yet  the  puniest  child  at  birth, 

As  it  opes  its  eye, 

With  a  mewling  cry, 
Seems  to  challenge  the  big  round  earth  ; 


50  GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN. 

And  it  shuts  its  fists 

In  the  crowded  lists 
Of  inherited  lust  and  sin — 

'Tis  a  bland  old  world 

And  a  grand  old  world, 
Yet  we  weep  as  we  struggle  in. 

'Tis  a  mad  old  world, 

'Tis  a  sad  old  world 
To  the  thousands  of  toiling  men  ; 

But  the  ceaseless  strife 

For  the  bread  of  life 
Brings  a  speedy  relief — and  then  ! 

When  our  forms  are  prest 

To  the  brown  earth's  breast, 
Will  the  riddle  be  solved,  no  doubt. 

'Tis  a  drear  old  world, 

And  a  dear  old  world — 
Yet  we  smile  as  we  hurry  out ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  51 


Mine  Little  Comrade. 

I     ITTLE  comrade — comrade  mine — 

Cheeks  of  roses,  lips  of  wine, 
Dimpled  arms  that  oft  entwine 
'Round  my  neck,  and  eyes  divine; 
I  am  thirty,  grave  and  gray, 
Thou  but  five — yet  lackaday  ! 
Rulest  me  in  artless  way 
Sweeter  than  the  sweets  of  May. 


Little  comrade,  for  thy  sake — 
Ah  !  the  journeys  that  we  take 
Over  mountain,  sea  and  lake  ; 
Strange  discoveries  we  make. 
Arm  in  arm,  by  hook  or  crook, 
Spying  out  each  hidden  nook, 
Here  a  peep  and  there  a  look — 
All  within  a  story  book ! 


52  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Little  comrade,  climb  my  knee  ; 
Thou  shalt  journey  hence  with  me, 
To  the  distant  lands  that  be 
Far  beyond  the  dark-blue  sea. 
Nestle  closer  as  we  sail — 
Let  thy  dear  voice  be  the  gale 
Piping  out  a  cheery  hail 
Unto  every  passing  tale. 

Little  comrade — comrade  mine- 
Flaxen  tresses,  silken  fine, 
Azure  eyes  that  glint  and  shine 
Like  the  corn  flow'rs  of  the  Rhine  ; 
List  thou,  darling — bend  thy  look, 
Here's  a  shepherd,  plaid  and  crook, 
With  his  sheep  beside  a  brook — 
All  within  a  story  book  ! 

Little  comrade,  let  thy  feet 
Press  yon  ancient  city's  street — 
Bruising  odors,  rare  and  sweet, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  53 


From  Italia's  marguerite ; 
Northward  turn  a  cunning  glance- 
Keen  as  Scotia's  thistle  lance- 
Lead  me  then  a  nimble  dance, 
Up  across  the  fields  of  France. 

Little  comrade — comrade  mine — 
Cheeks  of  roses,  lips  of  wine, 
Azure  eyes  that  glint  and  shine 
Like  the  corn  flow'rs  of  the  Rhine  ; 
We  have  waded  every  brook, 
Peered  in  every  hidden  nook, 
Ah  !  the  journey  that  we  took — 
All  within  a  story  book  ! 


54  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Gran'daddy    Longlegs. 

HTHROUGH  the  dreamlike  mist  that  floats 
Up  the  path  of  childhood, 

Like  a  night  bird's  plaintive  notes 

Piping  from  the  wildwood, 

Comes  the  singsong  threnody 

Of  a  farm-boy  roaming 

Far  adown  the  dewy  lee, 

In  the  dusky  gloaming: 

"  Gran'daddy  Longlegs — 
With  y'r  strip-ed  trousiz — 
Take  y'r  longes'  p'inter  an' 
Tell  me  where  my  cows  is  !" 

O'er  the  clover  rank  and  sweet 
Floats  the  cowbell's  tinkle, 
Out  beyond  the  rip'ning  wheat 
Fireflies  are  a-twinkle ; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  55 


In  and  out  among  the  hedge 

Nimble  hares  are  leaping, 

And  along  the  forest's  edge 

Dark  and  dank,  is  creeping— 

u  Gran'daddy  Longlegs, 
Tell  me  where  my  cows  is, 
'R  I'll  pull  y'r  p'inter  off 
An  spile  y'r  strip-ed  trousiz  !" 

Years  of  peace  have  come  and  gone — 

Crash  and  blare  of  battle, 

Yet  the  farm-boy  still  plods  on 

Hunting  for  the  cattle  ; 

And  his  singsong  threnody 

Sets  my  pulses  beating, 

Till  my  lips  move  lispingly— 

All  my  soul  repeating  : 

"  Gran'daddy  Longlegs — 
With  y'r  strip-ed  trousiz— 
Take  y'r  longes'  p'inter  an' 
Tell  me  where  my  cows  is  !" 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Blue  Eyes  are  Peeping  at  Me. 

A  A  7HEN  the  birds  sing  their  songs  in  the  gray 

morning  light, 
And  the  blushing  east  heralds  the  sun  ; 

When   my  spirit  awakes  from  the  slumbers  of 

night 
And  rejoices  that  day  is  begun ; 

Then  I  hear  a  sweet  voice — 'tis  a  dear  little  girl's 
Shouting  in  innocent  glee — 

And  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  from  under  brown  curls, 
Are  roguishly  peeping  at  me. 

I'm  at  work  in  my  office— ~^ hear  a  low  sound, 

And  the  door  on  its  hinges  swings  wide ; 
I  cease  from  my  labor,  and  turning  around 

Find  a  wee  bonny  form  at  my  side. 
A  sweet  childish  face  is  uplifted  to  mine, 

A  small  hand  caresses  my  knee  ; 
And  from  under  brown  tresses,  silken  and  fine, 

Two  blue  eyes  are  peeping  at  me. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  57 

'Tis  night,  and  ensconsed  in  my  big  easy  chair 

I'm  perusing  a  late  magazine — 
A  small,  graceful  form  has  ascended  the  stair, 

And  will  quickly  appear  on  the  scene  ; 
Then  a  speedy  farewell  to  both  paper  and  book, 

Au  revoir  to  all  sweet  reverie — 
For,  sparkling  with  fun,  from  yon  shadowy  nook 

Blue  eyes  will  be  peeping  at  me. 

So  I  fondly  imagine  whatever  I  do, 

Or  wherever  I  chance  to  be, 
That  those  little  eyes  so  enchantingly  blue 

Are  continually  peeping  at  me  ; 
And  I  earnestly  hope,  when  my  sails  are  unfurled 

To  embark  on  eternity's  sea — 
When  I  take  a  last  look  at  this  beautiful  world, 

Those  blue  eyes'll  be  peeping  at  me  ! 


58  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Jack  Frost,  the  Artist. 

TACK  FROST,  the  little  artistic  elf, 

Took  palette  and  brush  from  off  the  shelf, 
And  softly  whispered  :     "  A  beautiful  scene 
I'm  going  to  fashion  in  silver  sheen." 
So  stretching  his  nimble  legs  he  sped 
Away  to  the  sleeping  river's  bed  ; 
His  magic  brush  swept  once  or  twice, 
And  the  river  was  covered  with  crystal  ice. 

The  rocky  hill,  from  base  to  dome, 
He  painted  in  silver  monochrome ; 
And  high  on  the  summit  where  hemlocks  grow 
He  whitened  its  surface  with  powdered  snow. 
The  brook  that  leaped  from  the  moss-grown  ledge 
He  changed  to  a  curtain,  whose  jeweled  edge 
Swept  over  the  ferns  on  the  rock  beneath, 
And  held  them  locked  in  an  icy  sheath. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  59 

Then  over  the  meadows  he  swiftly  flew, 
And  silvered  the  grasses  with  frozen  dew ; 
And  all  night  long  the  merry  elf 
Kept  softly  singing  to  himself: 
"  This  picture  I'm  painting  will  last,  I  'know, 
For  the  paints  that  I'm  using  are  ice  and  snow  ; 
And  the  North  Wind  brought  this  brush  to  me, 
From  his  home  in  the  frozen  polar  sea." 

The  fairy  picture  faded  away 
In  the  ardent  rays  of  the  sun,  next  day ; 
But  little  Jack  Frost — persistent  sprite- 
Will  paint  it  again  some  other  night. 
Down  from  the  north,  in  the  midnight's  hush, 
He'll  silently  come  with  palette  and  brush, 
And  then  by  the  light  of  the  morn  you'll  see 
A  picture  of  silver  filigree. 


60  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


The   Pixy  Band. 

WHEN  I  forsake  the  busy  street 
And  trail  my  foot-prints  home  at  night, 
A  band  of  naughty  pixies  meet 
Me  on  the  steps,  with  keen  delight ; 
They  nimbly  steal  my  hat,  and  take 
Away  my  overcoat  and  cane, 
My  wet  umbrella  seize,  and  shake 
Adown  my  back  the  drops  of  rain  ! 

In  vain  I  plead  :     "  Ah  !  leave  me — go, 
And  bar  the  way  no  longer,  please ; 
Why  will  ye  clog  my  footsteps  so — 
Why  will  ye  hang  about  my  knees?" 
They  bend  me  down  and  mount  my  back, 
And  heedless  quite  of  bump  or  fall 
They  make  the  floor  a  racing  track, 
And  speed  me  through  the  entrance  hall. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  61 


We  reach  the  parlor ;  there  they  place 
For  me  my  easy-cushioned  chair, 
And  pull  my  beard  and  pinch  my  face 
And  comb  awry  my  scanty  hair. 
They  call  me  "  papa  '' — man  alive  ! 
Sure,  fortune  smites  with  heavy  hand, 
When  I,  a  youth  of  thirty-five, 
Am  father  to  a  pixy  band  ! 

L'ENVOI. 

Beside  a  row  of  drowsy  heads, 
With    moistened  eyes  each  night  I  stand ; 
And  bend  and  kiss  them  in  their  beds — 
God  bless  my  little  pixy  band  ! 


62  GOLDENROD   AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


How  Santa  Claus  Comes. 

"WOU  have  asked  me  for  a  rhyme 

'        Telling  unto  you  the  time 
And  the  mystic,  mazy  manner 
In  which  Santa  Claus  can  climb 
Up  the  chimneys  and  the  flues, 
Free  from  blister,  burn  or  bruise, 
With  a  pack  upon  his  back,  of 
Toys  and  trinkets  for  the  shoes 
Of  the  little  people  who, 
All  the  sleepy  summer  through, 
Watched  and  waited  for  the  filling 
Of  their  shoes — and  stockings,  too. 


As  to  time — well,  let  me  see ! 
When  the  north  wind  whistles  free 
From  the  frozen  fields  of  Greenland, 
Down  across  the  Polar  sea, 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  63 

Till  Jack  Frost  takes  up  the  croon, 
Snaps  his  fingers  at  the  moon — 
And  the  snowflakes  flit  and  flutter 
To  the  music  of  the  tune  ; 
Then  with  doughnuts,  dolls  and  drums 
Skates  and  sleds  and  sugar-plums 
And  a  pack  of  pretty  presents, 
Good  old  Santa  always  comes. 

In  the  wan  and  wintry  night, 
When  the  moon  is  beaming  bright 
And  the  snow-drifts  glint  and  glisten 
In  the  mild  and  mellow  light, 
Then,  if  you  will  lend  an  ear, 
Sounding  faint  but  crystal  clear, 
You  will  hear  him  as  he  cracks  his 
Whip  and  chirrups  to  his  deer  ; 
Softly,  softly,  near  or  far, 
Not  another  sound  to  mar, 
Like  the  tinkle  of  a  sleigh-bell 
Or  the  twinkle  of  a  star. 


64  GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN. 

That's  the  time  he  always  comes, 
With  his  pack  of  dolls  and  drums, 
Balls  and  books  and  pretty  presents, 
Skates  and  sleds  and  su^ar-plums ; 
Riding  in  a  dancing  sleigh 
Drawn  by  twenty  deer,  they  say, 
Heltei-skelter,  hurry-skurry — 
Never  pausing  once  to  pay 
Toll,  or  give  a  single  peep 
Whether  roads  are  rough  and  steep  ; 
Finning,  fretting,  never  getting 
Time  to  take  a  minute's  sleep, 

Such  a  hale  and  hearty  sprite  ! 
With  two  eyes  as  burnished  bright 
As  the  twinkling  stars  above  him, 
And  a  bushy  beard  of  white  ; 
With  a  broad  back  barely  bent 
By  the  years  that  he  has  spent 
In  the  service  of  the  children, 
And  a  waist  protuberant ; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  65 

Belted,  buckled,  girded  in 
From  the  pimple  on  his  chin, 
To  the  dimple  on  his  knee-cap 
Where  his  fur-topped  boots  begin ! 

That's  old  Santa,  I  declare  ! 

Funny,  fussy,  debonair, 

With  a  wealth  of  health  and  humor 

And  a  plenteous  stock  of  hair. 

And  the  chimneys?     Ah,  ''ma  belle, 

I  am  cautious  how  I  tell 

That  he  slips  and  scrambles  down  them, 

Like  a  toad  into  a  well ; 

For  I've  waited  oft  to  get 

Just  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  yet 

Spite  of  all  my  weary  watching 

We  have  never,  never  met ! 

That's  the  way  he  always  comes — 
With  his  pack  of  dolls  and  drums, 
Nuts  and  candies,  pretty  presents, 
Tricks  and  toys  and  sugar-plums, 


66  GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN . 

And  if  you  will  lend  an  ear, 
Sounding  faint  but  crystal  clear, 
You  will  hear  him  as  he  cracks  his 
Whip  and  chirrups  to  his  deer; 
Softly,  softly,  near  or  far, 
Not  another  sound  to  mar — 
Like  the  tinkle  of  a  sleigh-bell 
Or  the  twinkle  of  a  star  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  67 


Sleep. 

T^HOU  dear,  anaesthetizing  Sleep! 

In  waves  of  slumber,  warm  and  deep, 
Enfold  me  from  the  cold  world's  frown, 
And  press  my  weary  eyelids  down 
With  soothing  touch  ;  about  my  head 
The  fairy  scenes  of  dreamland  spread, 
And  o'er  my  fevered  spirit  fling 
The  shadow  of  thy  drowsy  wing ! 

For  I'm  aweary  of  the  strife — 
The  ceaseless  struggle  men  call  life ; 
Would  bend  my  throbbing  temples  low, 
Whilst  list'ning  to  the  rhythmic  flow 
Of  thy  sweet  strains ;  within  thy  arms, 
Unmindful  of  earth's  mad  alarms 
And  rasping  cares,  would  sweetly  rest— 
Among  thy  slumbrous  garments  pressed]! 


68  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Those    Summer    *Days   of 
Long  Ago 

'"PHOSE  summer  days  of  long  ago! 

I  seem  to  feel  and  know  them  still — 
The  berry  blossoms  white  as  snow, 
The  crimson  clover  on  the  hill ; 
The  sleepy  highroad,  old  and  gray, 
That  yawned  and  stretched,  and  crept  away 
Within  the  woodland,  cool  and  black, 
And  never,  never  more  come  back  ! 
I  seem  to  feel  the  idle  breeze 
That  loitered  down  the  shady  ways  ; 
To  hear  the  drowsy  drone  of  bees, 
And  know  within  my  soul  the  blaze 
Of  truant  sunbeams  dancing  bright 
Adown  the  highroad  out  of  sight. 

I  seem  to  see  the  low  rail  fence, 
That  worming  onward  mile  on  mile, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  69 

Was  redolent  with  pungent  scents 
Of  sassafras  and  camomile. 
Within  a  fence  rail  tall  and  bare, 
The  saucy  bluebird  nested  there ; 
'Twas  there  the  largest  berries  grew, 
As  every  barefoot  urchin  knew  ! 
And  swiftly,  shyly  creeping  through 
The  tangled  vines  and  brambles  dense — 
The  mingled  sunshine  and  the  dew — 
The  Bob  White  perched  atop  the  fence ; 
And,  flinging  toil  and  care  away, 
He  piped  and  lilted  all  the  day. 

Those  summer  days  of  long  ago ! 
The  noisy  catbird  flitted  o'er 
The  dogwood's  yeasty  waves  of  snow — 
The  dark  green  wood  the  further  shore ; 
And  I,  a  barefoot  boy  of  ten, 
Stole  tiptoe  down  the  mossy  glen 
To  count  the  baby  birds  at  rest 
Within  their  snugly  hidden  nest. 


70  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Across  the  stubble  fields  of  gold — 
Ashimmer  in  the  pulsing  heat — 
Those  dreamy  noontide  hours  of  old 
Come  trooping  back  with  flying  feet, 
Until  I  seem  to  feel  and  know 
Those  summer  days  of  long  ago  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  71 

*Dan    Tucker. 

'  r~PIS  a  summer  night  and  a  harvest  moon, 
'Tis  an  old  time  country  party ; 

There  are  lusty  lads- in  their  heavy  shoon, 

There  are  buxom  lasses  hearty ; 

And  the  noise  floats  out  through  the  open  door, 

Till  the  night  wind  soft  rejoices 

At  the  shuffling  feet  on  the  cabin  floor, 

And  the  hum  of  merry  voices. 
Oh!  its- 

"  OP  Dan  Tucker's  come  to  town 
Swingin'  the  ladies  all  aroun' ; 
First  to  the  east  an'  then  to  the  west 
An'  then  to  the  one  'at  he  loves  best. 
Git  out  o'  the  way  fer  ol'  Dan  Tucker — 
He's  too  late  to  git  his  supper !" 

Oh,  the  noon  of  night  and  the  starry  skies — 
Oh,  the  young  hearts  wildly  beating ! 
And  the  ruby  lips  and  the  shining  eyes 
Are  the  old,  old  tale  repeating; 


72  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

And  the  misty  moon,  as  it  climbs  the  hill 
Where  the  dewdrops  glint  and  glisten, 
Has  a  smile  for  the  lonely  whippoorwill 
That  has  quit  his  song  to  listen. 

And  it's— 

"  OP  Dan  Tucker's  come  to  town 
Salutin'  the  ladies  up  an'  down  ; 
First  to  the  east  an'  then  to  the  west 
An'  then  to  the  one  'at  he  loves  best. 
Jine  the  chorus  loud  an'  hearty, 
An'  we'll  'ave  a  jov'al  party !" 

Oh  !  it's—"  Ol'  Dan  Tucker's  come  to  town  " 

To  the  tune  of  a  squeaky  fiddle, 

And—"  Salutin'  the  ladies  all  aroun'  " 

Is  the  bashful  swain  in  the  middle ; 

And — "  first  to  the  east  an'  then  to  the  west'' 

How  he  claps  his  hands  and  dances, 

"  An'  then  to  the  one  'at  he  loves  best  " 

Does  he  turn  his  loving  glances. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  73 

For  it's — 

"  Apple  cider,  punkin  pie — 
The  gray  cat  kicked  out  the  black  cat's 

eye; 

Shanghai  chickens  grows  so  tall, 
Takes  a  week  for  the'r  aigs  to  fall ! 
Hey,  Jim-a-long  !  Aint  she  a  posey? 
Hey,  Jim-a-long,  Jim-a-iong  Josey  !" 

As  the  pale  moon  dies  in  the  distant  west 
And  the  farm  cock  hurls  his  warning, 
As  the  ghostly  fog  at  the  wind's  behest 
Shakes  hands  with  the  rosy  morning ; 
Then  the  lights  fade  out,  and  the  flying  feet 
That  have  danced  through  a  night  of  pleasure, 
Creep  home  through  the  dust  and  the  golden  wheat 
To  the  strain  of  the  same  old  measure ! 
Oh!  its— 

"  Ol'  Dan  Tucker's  come  to  town 
Salutin'  the  ladies  all  aroun' ; 
First  to  the  north  an'  then  to  the  south 
An'  then  to  the  one  with  the  sweetest 

mouth. 

Git  out  o'  the  way  fer  ol'  Dan  Tucker — 
He's  too  late  to  git  his  supper !" 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

When  /Night  Stalks  in. 

\  \  7  HEN  Night  stalks  in  ! 

A  veil  of  sombre,  ragged  lace 
Is  thrown  across  the  moon's  fair  face. 
The  demons  of  the  upper  air 
Are  howling,  shrieking  everywhere  ; 
They  raise  one  universal  shout 
As  heaven's  lamps  are  blotted  out — 
And  haggard  Night,  amidst  the  din, 
Is  swiftly,  surely  ushered  in. 

When  Night  stalks  in  ! 
The  sooty  clouds  drop  slowly  down, 
And  fogs  of  dingy  yellow  crown 
The  chimney  tops.     The  feeble  glare 
Of  lamps  illumes  the  outer  air ; 
Anon  the  sweeping  rain  and  sleet 
Invade  the  darkened,  slush-paved  street, 
And  revelry  and  death  and  sin 
With  gruesome  Night  are  ushered  in. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  75 

When  Night  stalks  in  ! 
The  river  lashed  by  icy  rain 
With  sullen  moan  betrays  its  pain, 
And  rushing  past  the  bridge's  piers 
It  foams  and  frets  in  useless  tears. 
Along  the  wet,  deserted  street, 
Where  traffic's  pulse  was  wont  to  beat, 
Dense  blackness  holds ;  and  o'er  the  town 
Night's  sable  garment  settles  down. 


76  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


The  Thunder  Storm. 

A  CROSS  the  zigzag  line  of  hills 

That  wall  the  verdant  valley  in, 
The  rumble  of  the  thunder  mills, 
With  muttering,  fast  increasing  din 

Comes  rolling  down. 
Great  banks  of  smoky  clouds  outspread 

Along  the  dark  horizon's  rim ; 
The  furnace  fires  flash  amber  red 

And  show  the  night-sky  black  and  grim 
Above  the  town. 


The  fiery  tempest's  formed,  released ; 

A  momentary  space  it  holds, 
Then  howling  like  a  frenzied  beast 

It  shakes  the  lightning  from  its  folds, 
And  booms  and  roars. 


OOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  77 

The  vivid  flashes,  bluish  white, 
The  tossing,  shivering  trees  reveal 

And  cut  athwart  the  inky  night, 

Like  flashing  blades  of  polished  steel ; 
The  rain  downpours. 

The  storm  sweeps  o'er.     The  frowning  hills 

Stand  outlined  in  the  feeble  light, 
A  broken  wave  of  moonshine  spills 

And  puts  the  dusky  clouds  to  flight ; 

The  sky  grows  clear. 
A  glad  bird  twitters  'mong  the  trees ; 

The  sullen  storm  growls  far  away 
As  down  the  eastern  skies  it  flees, 

To  meet  the  coming  King  of  Day  ; 
The  morn  draws  near. 


78  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Cradle  and  Coffin. 

'"THE  cradle,  indeed !     'Tis  the  coffin,  I  trow, 
:        For  it  shelters  the  nearest  to  death  that  we 

know; 

Just  a  faint  bit  of  fire  in  oblivion's  dark — 
Bursting  into  a  flame — dying  out  as  a  spark ; 
Infin'tesimal  atom  of  infinite  worth 
Hid  away  mid  the  sorrows  and  sins  of  the  earth. 
'Tis  the  nearest  to  death  that  we  know — and  the 

gloom 

Of  uncertainty  serves  as  the  walls  of  the  tomb. 

The  coffin,  forsooth !     'Tis  the  cradle  of  God  ; 
And  eternity's  infant  will  gambol  and  nod, 
When  the  dark  clouds  of  ignorance  roll  from  its  view 
And  the  sun-drops  of   knowledge  come  filtering 
through. 

It  will  prattle  and  smile  in  this  hour  of  its  birth, 
And  the  pitiful  toys  that  it  juggled  on  earth 
Will  be  cast  from  its  hand — to  be  valued  no  more — 
For  the  glorious  treasures  that  God  has  in  store. 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  79 

The  cradle,  the  coffin — but  terms  at  the  best ; 
The  one  savors  of  toil  and  the  other  of  rest ; 
The  one  leads  up  to  manhood — its  folly,  its  curse, 
And  the  other  leads — well,  it  can  never  be  worse. 
'Tis  the  cradle  that  bids  us  to  wake  and  to  weep, 
'Tis  the  coffin  invites  us  to  slumber  and  sleep ; 
And  eternity's  infant  will  gambol  and  nod 
When  it  wakens  at  last  in  the  cradle  of  God  ! 


80  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


A  Wild,  Wet  /Night. 

'  '""PIS  a  wild,  wet  night !     And  the  cutting  blast 
Strips  the  sail  in  shreds,  from  the  creaking 

mast 
Of  a  helpless  ship  that  is  drifting  fast 

Upon  the  rocks ; 

And  the  mad  waves  gnash  at  the  rock-bound  shore 
Till  their  hungry  jaws  are  with  foam  flecked  o'er, 
While  the  lightnings  flash — and  the  thunders  roar 
Like  earthquake  shocks. 

'Tis  a  drear,  old  night !  On  the  cruel  bar 
Lies  a  stark  form  lashed  to  a  broken  spar, 
And  the  harsh  winds  laughs  and  a  single  star 

Looks  coldly  down ; 

While  the  glad  waves  toy  with  the  golden  hair 
On  the  dead  man's  brow  that  is  broad  and  fair, 
And  the  pale  moon  smiles  that  his  features  wear 

A  frozen  frown. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  81 

L'ENVOI. 

'Tis  a  clear,  warm  day  !     And  a  cottage  stands 
Where  the  rough  hills  meet  with  the  yellow  sands ; 
And  among  the  gorse  on  the  brown  uplands 

A  song-bird  trills. 

There's  a  white  face  pressed  to  the  window  pane, 
There's  a  wan  cheek  wet  with  the  tear-drop's  rain, 
And  the  soft  wind  whistles  a  funer'l  strain 

Across  the  hills ! 


82  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


The  Castle  of  Dreams. 

T  HAVE  parted  the  golden-fringed  curtain, 

That  hangs  at  the  portal  of  sleep ; 
I  have  passed  through  the  twilight  uncertain, 
Where  the  winds  of  forgetfulness  sweep  ; 
And  I  bask  in  a  light  warm  and  tender 
That  o'er  me  caressingly  streams, 
While  I  gaze  on  the  beauty  and  splendor 
Of  the  mystical  Castle  of  Dreams. 

Here  the  fountains  are  ceaselessly  spraying 

A  fragrance  exotic  and  rare, 

And  unseen  hands  of  spirits  are  playing 

A  soft  and  voluptuous  air  ; 

Here  the  sweetest  of  song-birds  are  singing — 

Till  my  soul  is  ablaze,  and  it  seems 

That  the  music  of  heaven  is  ringing 

Through  the  mystical  Castle  of  Dreams. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  83 

In  this  castle  most  beautiful  flowers 
Are  mingling  their  tropical  blooms, 
And  I  catch  mid  the  evergreen  bowers 
The  breath  of  their  subtle  perfumes ; 
From  the  star-lighted  ceiling  suspended, 
The  bright  lamp  of  destiny  gleams, 
And  its  rays  like  a  rainbow  are  blended 
In  the  mystical  Castle  of  Dreams. 

In  this  castle  the  goblet  of  pleasure, 

As  it  presses  the  dreamer's  moist  lip, 

Has  never  a  limit  of  measure — 

Knows  never  a  halt  nor  a  slip. 

Here  they  plan  no  vain  things  for  the  morrows, 

But  bask  in  the  present's  glad  beams  ; 

And  they  shut  out  the  world  and  its  sorrows — 

From  the  mystical  Castle  of  Dreams ! 


84  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Lock-Tender  John. 

WN  on  the  bank  of  the  fair  inland  river 
Stands  the  lone  cottage  of  Lock-Tender  John; 
'Round  it  the  autumn  winds  whistle  and  shiver, 
O'er  it  the  gray  clouds  sweep  lazily  on. 
Softly  the  clear  waters  murmur  the  story — 
Lovingly,  lispingly  telling  it  o'er, 
Till  the  gaunt  sycamores,  aged  and  hoary, 
Whisper  and  bend  to  the  reeds  on  the  shore. 

Here   in    the    years    that    have    glimmered    and 

vanished — 

Ere  the  white  cottage  had  gone  to  decay — 
Here,  like  a  criminal  ruthlessly  banished, 
Dwelt  the  old  lock-tender,  wrinkled  and  gray. 
Whether  the  dial  marked  midnight  or  morning, 
Whether  the  weather  brought  sunshine  or  rain, 
John's     eager     ears     caught     the     boat-whistle's 

warning — 
John's  bony  hands  gripped  the  arm  of  the  crane. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  85 

Bright  were  his  eyes  as  the  crystalline  bubbles 
Dancing  away  in  the  sun's  brightest  gleam  ; 
Free  was  his  mind  from  all  sorrows  and  troubles — 
Calm  as  the  face  of  the  swift-flowing  stream. 
Gruff  was  his  voice  as  the  loud  billows  dashing 
Under  the  dam  at  the  base  of  the  rock, 
White  was  his  hair  as  the  creamy  foam  flashing — 
Staunch  was  his  heart  as  the  walls  of  the  lock. 

Seasons  rolled  by,  and  each  year's  panorama 
Showed  him  more  feeble,  as  scene  followed  scene ; 
"  Finis  "  appeared  at  the  close  of  life's  drama — 
Only  a  few  fleeting  pictures  between. 
One  dreary  night  when  the  cloud  racks  were  flying, 
Racing  like  specters  across  the  black  sky- 
When  the  sad  wind  was  complaining  and  sighing, 
John  nestled  down  on  his  pallet  to  die. 

There  in  the  stillness  of  midnight,  unbroken 
Save  by  the  tick  of  the  clock  on  its  shelf, 
Breathing  a  prayer — though  the    words  were  un 
spoken — 
John  closed  accounts  'twixt  his  God  and  himself; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Then  breaking  in  like  an  echoing  dream-note — 
Drowning  the  voice  of  the  querulous  clock — 
Came  the  faint,  faraway  call  of  a  steamboat, 
Saying:     "Come,  open  the  gates  of  the  lock.'1 

Never  by  him  had  the  summons  been  slighted  ! 
Tottering  up  from  his  couch  at  the  call, 
Pleading  for  strength  his  dim  lantern  he  lighted — 
Then  staggered  down  to  the  crane  on  the  wall. 
Slowly  the  grim  gates  swung  open,  and  smiling 
There  at  his  post  the  old  lock-tender  died— 
Just  as  the  great  steamer  rounded  the  piling, 
Passed  through  the  gateway  and  floated  inside! 

Down  on  the  bank  of  the  fair  inland  river 
Stands  the  lone  cottage  of  Lock-Tender  John ; 
'Round  it  the  autumn  winds  whistle  and  shiver, 
O'er  it  the  gray  clouds  sweep  lazily  on  ; 
Softly  the  song-birds  are  telling  the  story — 
Trilling  it  forth  from  their  hearts  and  their  throats  : 
"  Angels  swung  open  the  bright  gates  of  glory 
To  him  who  had  opened  the  gates  for  the  boats  !" 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  87 


When  the  year  Grows  Old. 

\  \  J HEN  the  year  grows  old, 

When  the  sunflower's  gold 
Turns  to  common  dross  and  crumbles 
Into  brown  and  earthy  mold, 

When  the  sunlit  skies 

And  my  truelove's  eyes 
Fade  and  pale  before  the  splendor 
Of  the  aster's  purple  dyes ; 
Then  the  copse-entangled  byways, 
And  the  forests  and  the  fields, 
Flecked  with  bits  of  flaming  crimson 
That  the  fiery  maple  yields, 
Feel  the  touch  of  melancholy 
That  the  fleeting  moments  hold, 
And  the  hilltops  wear  a  halo — 

When  the  year  grows  old. 


88  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

When  the  year  grows  old, 

And  the  fall  wind  cold 
Pipes  and  whistles  down  the  highway 
Like  a  hoiden  overbold, 

When  the  gray  clouds  frown 

And  the  thistledown 
Flits  and  trips  a  merry  measure 
In  its  silver-spangled  gown  ; 
Then  the  hazelnuts  are  falling 
In  a  mad  and  mazy  trance, 
And  the  rustling  leaves  are  calling 
To  the  thistle's  airy  dance ; 
Yet  a  touch  of  melancholy 
Rests  upon  the  wood  and  wold. 
And  the  sun  is  veiled  and  hazy— 

When  the  year  grows  old. 

When  the  year  grows  old — 
When  the  bright  days  fold 

Their  phantom  tents  and  speed  adown 

The  centuries  untold; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  89 

When  the  moments  fly, 

And  the  hours  slip  by 
Like  the  shuffle  of  a  footstep 
Or  the  twinkle  of  an  eye  ; 
Then  the  sumac  glad  in  glory 
Holds  the  ford  above  the  mill, 
And  the  oak  tree,  grim  and  hoary, 
Guards  the  pass  upon  the  hill ; 
But  a  taste  of  melancholy 
To  the  sons  of  men  is  doled, 
That  the  earth  is  filled  with  folly— 
And  the  year  grows  old  ! 


90  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

The  Summer  Shower. 

PHE  frown  on  the  face  of  the  noonday  sun 
'Neath  the  silvery  cloud-drifts  creeping, 
The  rattle  of  rain-drops  one  by  one, 
Where  the  tall  grass  waves  and  the  shadows  run 
And  the  freshening  breeze  is  sweeping ; 
The  scream  of  the  startled,  homeless  bird 
And  the  wild  bee's  hurried  humming, 
The  bleating  cries  of  the  frightened  herd — 
Tell  the  summer  shower  is  coming. 

The  patter  of  rain  in  the  village  street, 

Like  a  bevy  of  fairies  tripping  ; 

The  thunder's  crash  and  the  lightning's  sheet — 

Where   the  trailing  clouds  and   the  brown    earth 

meet — 

And  the  streams  from  the  low  eaves  dripping ; 
The  war  that  the  tawny  billows  wide 
In  the  gullies  are  madly  waging, 
And  the  barefoot  urchin  that  stems  the  tide — 
Show  the  summer  shower  is  raging. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  91 

The  quivering  flash  as  the  lightning  dies 

And  the  roll  of  the  distant  thunder, 

The  glittering  rainbow  that  spans  the  skies 

Where  the  columns  of  feathery  vapor  rise — 

And  the  blue  sky  showing  under; 

The  changing  hues  of  the  rip'ning  grain 

Where  the  sunshine  and  shade  are  blended — 

Mark  the  close  of  the  sweet,  refreshing  rain  ; 

And  the  summer  shower  is  ended. 


92  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Cupid  is   Abroad  To-/Night. 

LYING  hoofs  and  jingling  bells, 

On  the  air  the  music  swells ; 
Frozen  spume- flakes  floating  wide, 
From  the  steeds  on  either  side ; 
Swaying  sled  with  merry  load 
Down  the  sheeted,  moonlit  road 
Glides,  an  engine  strong  and  swift, 
Through  each  deep,  opposing  drift ; 
Beauty's  cheeks  are  crimsoned  bright — 
Cupid  is  abroad  to-night ! 

Shouting  boys  and  laughing  girls, 
Sparkling  eyes  and  shining  curls, 
Foaming  steeds  and  creaking  sleighs 
Ploughing  through  the  snowy  ways. 
Merry  jest  and  happy  song 
Cheer  the  crowd  that  speeds  along, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  93 

By  the  farm-house  grim  and  dark, 
Where  the  watch- dog's  wicked  bark 
Makes  the  horses  shy  with  fright — 
Cupid  is  abroad  to-night ! 


Crescent  moon  and  twinkling  stars 
Strew  the  road  with  silver  bars, 
Mingling  with  the  dismal  shade 
By  the  tossing  treetops  made. 
Here  doth  naughty  Cupid  hide, 
Bow  and  quiver  at  his  side, 
Waiting  to  discharge  a  dart 
At  some  blushing  maiden's  heart ; 
See,  the  red  lips  change  to  white- 
Cupid  is  abroad  to-night ! 


Slender  form  kept  safe  from  harm 
By  a  strong  encircling  arm  ; 
Lovelit  eyes  and  ruby  lips, 
Fingertips  meet  fingertips ; 


94  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Hand  clasps  hand — and  then,  you  know, 
Cupid  leaps  from  out  the  snow, 
Finishes  the  work  begun — 
Two  hearts  pierced  instead  of  one. 
Hear  him  laugh — the  merry  sprite — 
Cupid  is  abroad  to-night ! 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  95 


The  Country  Doctor. 

'"PHE  country  doctor  !     Let  the  bard 

Whose  lyre  is  tuned  to  idle  praise— 
His  locks  unshorn,  his  face  uumarred 
By  sweat  and  grime,  his  hands  unscarred 
By  daily  toil — in  dulcet  lays, 
In  empty  word  and  hollow  phrase 
Recount  the  annals  of  the  great ; 
Let  him  record  and  celebrate 
Their  noble  deeds ;  their  pomp  and  state, 
Their  wisdom — all  perpetuate. 
A  humbler  theme  to  you  I  bring — 
The  smell  of  flow'rs,  the  breath  of  spring, 
The  flutter  of  the  blue  bird's  wing, 
And  with  it  all  I  bring  to  you 
The  country  doctor,  good  and  true. 

The  country  doctor  !     Him  whose  life 

From  sun  to  sun  is  daily  rife 

With  bootless  toil  and  ceaseless  strife ; 


96  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Whose  sturdy  frame  is  made  to  feel 
The  summer's  flame,  the  winter's  steel — 
I  come  to  sing  in  praise  of  him. 
His  soul  is  fat,  his  purse  is  slim, 
His  eyesight  keen,  his  foresight  dim — 
For  caring  naught  for  pow'r  or  pelf, 
While  there's  a  crust  upon  the  shelf, 
He  works  for  fun  and  boards  himself! 

Ah  !  ye,  who  traverse  city  streets 

On  swaying  springs  and  cushioned  seats, 

The  difficulties  that  he  meets — 

The  bumps  and  jolts — ye  little  know. 

Through  seas  of  mud,  o'er  wastes  of  snow, 

Where  icy  tempests  howl  and  blow, 

In  pouring  rain,  where  torrents  flow 

And  sheen  and  shadow  come  and  go, 

Astride  the  sorriest  of  nags 

And  armed  with  spur  and  saddlebags, 

He  onward  works  his  weary  way  ; 

And  be  it  night  or  be  it  day, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  97 

He  never  falters  nor  looks  back 
Adown  the  steep  and  rugged  track, 
But  sets  his  teeth  and  onward  plods — 
Himself  a  clod  among  the  clods ! 


I've  said  "  a  clod  among  the  clods.'1 
'Twere  better,  "  god  among  the  gods  !" 
For  sacrificing  hours  of  ease 
And  striving  hard  to  do  and  please, 
And  winning  but  the  dregs  and  lees 
Of  life's  sweet  wine,  he  fights  disease 
With  clenched  hands  and  bated  breath — 
And  knows  no  conqueror  but  death. 
It  shames  me  not  to  tell  the  truth — 
An  unkempt,  muddy  god,  forsooth! 
Besmeared — bespattered — leggings,  suit— 
From  crown  of  hat  to  sole  of  boot, 
And  oft-times  tumbled  in  the  wave 
That  seems  to  yawn  a  watery  grave, 
He  bobs  serenely  on  the  flood 
And  swims  about  the  sea  of  mud. 
For  lo !  his  pockets  are  so  light 
He  can  not  disappear  from  sight. 


98  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

No  scientific  friend  has  he — 

Who  ends  his  name  "A.  M.,  M.  D." 

Or  tacks  thereto  a  "  Ph.  G."— 

To  help  him  in  perplexity, 

And  earn  them  both  a  handsome  fee ; 

But  when  he  finds  a  knotty  case, 

A  problem  that  he  dare  not  face, 

He  sends  his  patient  off  to  town 

To  some  physician  of  renown. 

(God  save  the  mark !     All,  all  are  great 

Who  dwell  within  the  city's  gate  ! ) 

And  this  great  man  dilates  his  eyes 

And  rubs  his  hands,  looks  wondrous  wise- 

And  nimbly  gobbles  up  the  prize  ! 

The  city  doctor  counts  his  gold, 

Makes  fresh  deposits  in  the  banks, 

And  sends  the  country  doctor,  old— 

A  neatly-worded  note  of  thanks  ! 

To  church  the  city  doctor  goes, 
(Ye  need  not  smile  and  wink  at  me 
And  strive  his  spotless  name  to  smirch  ; 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  99 

I'm  told  on  good  authority 
The  city  doctor  goes  to  church.) 
To  take  an  hour's  profound  repose, 
To  hear  the  gilded  organ  ring, 
To  say  his  pray'rs  and  nod  and  doze 
And  see  the  sweet  soprano  sing ; 
The  organ  peals,  the  tenor  squeals- 
Great  Scott !  how  good  that  doctor  feels. 
The  self-same  hour,  the  same-self  date, 
The  country  doctor,  sport  of  fate, 
Moves  up  some  gully's  rocky  course, 
Astride  his  rhubarb-colored  horse  ; 
The  only  anthem  that  he  hears, 
The  only  tune  that  greets  his  ears 
Is  murmured  by  the  evening  breeze — 
Which  moans  u  Old  Hundred"  thro'  the  trees! 

The  city  doctor  spends  his  days 
In  crowded  marts  and  traveled  ways; 
At  night  he  sees  the  latest  plays, 
And  rests  his  half-enchanted  gaze 


100  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

On  some  new  "star"  that  lights  the  stage— 

A  star  of  most  uncertain  age, 

Of  whom  the  critics  rant  and  rage. 

The  country  doctor,  poor,  despised — 

His  purse  half  starved  and  undersized — 

Contents  himself  to  stay  at  home  ; 

The  only  stars  he  ever  knows 

Are  those  that  rest  in  heaven's  dome 

And  light  the  waste  of  winter  snows. 

The  country  doctor  !     Blessed  be  he 
Who  sets  the  weary  sufferer  free 
From  burning  fever,  racking  pain 
And  countless  ills — and  does  it,  too, 
Without  a  thought  or  hope  of  gain  ; 
Without  a  single  cent  in  view  ! 
I  come  to  sing  in  praise  of  him, 
Whose  soul  is  fat,  whose  purse  is  slim, 
Whose  eyesight  keen,  whose  foresight  dim  ; 
For  caring  naught  for  fame  or  pelf, 
While  there's  a  crust  upon  the  shelf — 
He  works  for  fun  and  boards  himself ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  101 

Doodle-Up,  Doodle-Down. 

F~~\OWN   the   dusty  highway    where    the    truant 
•— '         breeze 

Loiters  o'er  the  roadside  sod, 
On  within  the  woodland  where  the  giant  trees 

Welcome  them  with  smile  and  nod, 
Twain  of  dainty  maidens,  with  their  finger-tips 

Delving  in  each  tiny  mound, 
Breathe  this  cabalistic  message  from  their  lips: 

"  Doodle,    doodle-up,   doodle-down  ! 
Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down,  doodle-down — 

Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down  !" 

4k  Doodle,  doodle-up  !"  and  the  nimble  insect  clown 
Wriggles  through  the  yellow  mold  ; 

"  Doodle,   doodle-up !"  and   the    straying   curls  of 

brown 
Mingle  with  the  curls  of  gold. 

Eager  little  faces,  bodies  bending  low, 
Nodding  little  sun-kissed  crowns, 

Rosy  lips — all  keeping  up  the  pantomimic  show; 


102  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

"Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down  ! 

Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down,  doodle-down — 

Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down  !" 

"  Doodle,  doodle-down  !"  and  the  comic  clown  in 
gray 

Quickly  disappears  from  sight ; 
"  Doodle,  doodle-down  !"  and  the  shining  curls  of 
day 

Mingle  with  the  curls  of  night. 
Merry  little  voices,  happy  little  hearts, 

Faces  where  the  sunbeams  drown  ; 
Laughing  eyes  a  peeping,  keen  as  Cupid's  darts — 

"  Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down  ! 
Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down,  doodle-down — 

Doodle,  doodle-up,  doodle-down  !" 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  103 

The  Buckwheat  Bloom. 

H,  the  buckwheat  bloom  !     Oh,  the  buckwheat 

bloom ! 

Where  the  sunbeams  sleep  and  the  wild  bees  boom, 
Where  the  brown  leaves  fall  and  the  sweet  winds 

croon 

Through  the  lengthened  shades  of  the  afternoon  ; 
There  the  white  fields  lie  in  the  wood's  embrace 
And  the  stream  slips  by  with  a  smiling  face — 
'Twixt  the  roadside  fence  and  the  woodside  gloom 
Are  the  fragrant  billows  of  buckwheat  bloom. 

Oh,  the  buckwheat  bloom  !     Oh,  the  buckwheat 

bloom  ! 

When  the  skies  are  soft  and  the  gray  hills  loom 
Through  the  distant  reaches  of  amber  light — 
When  the  goldenrod  by  the  stream  is  bright ; 
Then  I  love  to  stray  where  the  warm  winds  catch 
At  the  milk-white  spray  in  the  buckwheat  patch— 
From  the  roadside  fence  to  the  woodside  gloom 
Through  the  fragrant  billows  of  buckwheat  bloom. 


104  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Oh,   the  buckwheat  bloorn  !     Oh,  the  buckwheat 

bloom  ! 

When  the  blackbird  swings  on  a  bending  plume 
Of  the  golden  corn,  as  it  nods  and  sways 
In  the  yellow  light  of  the  autumn  days; 
Then  I  close  my  eyes,  and  my  senses  yield 
To  the  spell  that  lies  in  the  buckwheat  field— 
'Twixt  the  roadside  fence  and  the  woodside  gloom 
'Mong  the  fragrant  billows  of  buckwheat  bloom. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  105 


Summer  /Night. 

\  A  HLLOW  bows  dip  in  the  murm'ring  stream, 

Tiny  waves  lap  on  the  sandy  shore; 
Far  o'er  the  water  the  moon's  bright  beam 
Silvers  the  ripples  that  gently  roar. 
There  in  the  shadow  a  row-boat  lies — 
Nothing  the  night  or  the  silence  mars, 
Save  in  the  distance  a  night-bird  cries 
Under  the  light  of  the  burning  stars. 


Off  to  the  southward  the  city  lights 
Flicker  and  dance  in  the  flowing  stream  ; 
There  at  the  base  of  yon  rocky  heights 
Fires  in  a  steamer's  red  furnace  gleam. 
Discord  is  off  to  the  land  of  dreams- 
Nothing  the  half-holy  silence  mars, 
Save  in  the  distance  a  wild  bird  screams 
Under  the  light  of  the  burning  stars. 


106  GOLDKNROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Dews  are  caressing  the  meadow's  breast ; 
Perfume  of  flowers  pervades  the  air, 
Lulling  the  mind  to  a  passive  rest 
Free  from  all  worry  and  want  and  care. 
Fireflies  are  flitting  in  flaming  arcs — 
Nothing  the  mystical  silence  mars, 
Save  in  the  distance  a  watch-dog  barks 
Under  the  light  of  the  burning  stars. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  107 


An    Autumn   Idyl. 

'"THE  mid  day  sun  rides  overhead 
His  smiling  face  a  copper-red, 
And  through  the  crisp,  frost-bitten  air — 
From  grassy  knoll  to  hilltop  bare— 

A  hazy  vapor  breathes  ; 
Like  one  who  laughing  at  a  joke 
Exhales  a  puff  of  fragrant  smoke, 
And  hiding  half  his  jolly  face, 
Behind  the  folds  of  floating  lace 

Peeps  through  the  filmy  wreathes. 

Adown  yon  hazel-lined  ravine, 
The  ragged  sandstone  cliffs  between, 
Where  fallen  leaves,  all  gold  and  red, 
Are  clogging  fast  the  stony  bed, 

A  silver  ribbon  shines; 
And  through  the  smoky  atmosphere 
There  floats  aloft — now  dull,  now  clear— 
The  water's  tinkling  sound,  and  then 
It  whispers  through  the  rocky  glen, 
Like  night  wind  in  the  pines. 


108  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Among  the  shocks  of  bladed  corn, 
Where  plenty  fills  her  lavish  horn, 
A  flock  of  black-birds  speeding  south 
Have  paused  to  feed  each  hungry  mouth, 

And  chatter,  fight  and  scream. 
Across  the  ploughed  and  seeded  fields — 
Where  fresh-cast  grain  a  harvest  yields 
The  chipmunk,  sleek  and  brown — a  pair 
Of  south-bound  geese  divides  the  air ; 

Their  snowy  pinions  gleam. 


The  year  is  growing  rich  and  old. 
The  yellow  corn,  like  heaps  of  gold, 
And  purple  grapes,  whose  clusters  shine 
Like  amethysts  from  Asia's  mine, 

Are  riches  vast,  untold  ; 
The  luscious  apples  overhead 
Are  precious  rubies,  shining  red. 
The  hale  year  hums  a  harvest  song — 
Enjoys  his  wealth — thinks  life  is  long; 

But  he  is  growing  old  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  109 

Blossom  and   Fruit 

!. !  her  cheeks  were  the  pink  of  the  crabapple 

blows, 
And  her  breath  was  the  essence  of  perfume  that 

flows 
From  the  heart  of  the  blossom  ;  and  bathing  her 

lips 
Was  the  nectar  divine  that  the  honey-bee  sips. 

And  that  bonny  May  morn — with  the  wind  in  the 

south — 

As  the  bee  to  the  blossom  I  clung  to  her  mouth, 
Till  I  reeled  like  a  man  that  is  drunken  with  wine, 
And  entreated  and  plead:     "Oh,  my  darling,  be 

mine!" 

L' ENVOI. 
She  has  altered  somewhat  since  she  honored  my 

suit, 

And  to-day  she  resembles  the  well-matured  fruit ; 
So  I'm  looking  for  Cupid — the  treacherous  elf — 
For  I've  found  her  the  acid  crabapple  itself ! 


110  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Chris'mas  "Down  at  Gran'pa's. 

7\  l\  Y  pa,  you  know,  's  a  docker-man 

An'  we  live  in  the  city ; 
An'  pa  thinks  it's  the  proper  plan 
But  ma  says  :     "  It's  a  pity 
'At  little  folks  can't  have  a  place 
To  stretch  theirselves,  an'  romp  an'  race 
An'  git  the  freckles  on  the'r  face  — 
An'  run  an'  jump  'an  frolic ; 
To  hear  the  hum  'o  honey  bees 
An'  git  green  apples  from  the  trees  " — 
"  W'y  sure,"  says  pa,  "  an'  colic!'1'1 


My  gran'pa  lives  'way  over  down 

The  track  the  railroad  follers, 

'  An  in  a  place  called  Clovertown, 

Among  the  hills  an'  hollers. 

He  has  the  bigges',  warmes'  han' — 

An'  he's  the  goodes',  bestes'  man 

'At  ever  lived  'r  ever  can — 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  Ill 

My  gran'pa  is,  I  guess,  sir  ; 
An'  my  ma  says  'at  we'n  he  dies 
He'll  climb  right  up  the  starry  skies 
An'  live  in  heaven — yes,  sir  ! 

My  gran'ma's  good  as  him — 'r  near  ! 
An'  they're  ist  allus  happy, 
An'  he  calls  gran'ma,  "  mammy  dear  " 
An'  gran'ma  calls  him  "  pappy  ;" 
My  ma  says  :     "  Gran'ma's  growin'  old, 
But  true  as  steel  an'  good  as  gold — 
An'  half  'er  worth  was  never  told  ;" 
An'  pa  says:     "Now,  ther's  gran'pa — 
His  heart's  so  big  an'  growin'  fast, 
His  breast  won't  hold  it  all  at  last; 
He's  ist  as  good  as  gran'ma !" 

Well,  my  pa  said  las'  holiday  : 
"  Ef  you  be  good  an'  min'  me 
I'll  pack  you  up  an'  run  away 
Wher'  not  a  soul  can  fin'  me. 


112  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

We'll  ist  slip  down  an'  take  the  train- 
An'  let  'er  snow  'r  let  'er  rain 
We'll  never  grumble  n'r  complain 
Ef  we  git  safe  to  gran'ma's ; 
An'  ther'  we'll  stay  a  solid  week — 
An'  you  can  all  play  hide-an'-seek 
In  that  big  barn  o'  gran'pa's." 


W'en  we  got  on  the  cars  to  ride 

The  ingine  was  a  tootin', 

So  we  ist  took  our  seats  inside 

An'  went  a  skallyhootiri*  /" 

Nen  ma  said,  "  whew"  an'  pa  he  joked 

An'  'lowed  'at  even  ingines  smoked, 

An'    shocked    his   sides    'an    coughed    an' 

choked — 

Ist  acted  awful  funny  ; 

Nen  w'en  the  man  said,  "  Tickets,  please," 
W'y  pa  he  squirmed  an'  shocked  his  knees, 
An'  said,  "  I  ain't  no  money !" 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  113 

Well,  ma  she  fairly  had  to  grin 

To  see  him  cut  such  capers, 

An'  pa  said,  "  I'm  a  boy  ag'in  " — 

An'  gived  the  man  some  papers. 

Nen  w'en  we  got  to  gran'pa's  place, 

W'y  ther'  was  gran'pa's  good  ol'  face 

An'  gran'ma  with  'er  cap  o'  lace, 

A  waitin'  fer  to  greet  us ; 

An'  ma  runned  up — 'mos'  out  o'  breath — 

An'  nearly  hugged  'em  both  to  death 

To  think  they'd  come  to  meet  us. 


Oh  !  we  ist  had  the  bestes*  times, 

Fer  gran'pa  toP  us  stories 

An'  gran'ma  read  us  heaps  o'  rhymes 

'Bout  heaven  an'  its  glories; 

An'  'en  w'en  Chris'mas  eve  corned  'roun' 

A  great  big  snow  was  on  the  groun', 

An'  gran'pa  'lowed  he  heard  the  soun' 


114  GOLDKNROD    AND    THISTLEDO WN. 

O'  Santy's  deers  a  prancin' ; 
An'  grau'ma  peeked  at  me  an'  said  : 
"  W'y  look  at  little  curly-head — 
'Er  eyes  is  fairly  dancin'.  " 

An'  Santy  Claus  corned  sure  enough — 

Nobody  heard  'im  knockin' — 

An'  put  ist  heaps  an'  loads  o'  stuff 

In  everybody's  stockin'. 

We  had  a  Chris'mas  dinner,  too, 

An'  pa  said  :     "  Wat  am  I  to  do  ? 

Ther's  ist  so  much  I  can't  git  through  !" 

An'  'en  he  smiled  at  gran'ma; 

An'  ma  spoked  up  an'  said  :     "  Oh  !  dear, 

I  know  I'll  want  to  come  nex^  year 

Fer  Chris'mas  here  with  gran'pa!" 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  115 


Sight-on-Seen. 

\S  IND  o'  tradin'  sight-on-seen ! 

'F  I  can  make  you  understand- 
'F  I  can  tell  you  what  I  mean, 
Jine  with  me,  an'  hand  in  hand 
Le's  jest  up  an'  slip  away 
'Along  the  shadders  cool  an'  gray  ; 
Swap  the  dust  fer  fresh-mowed  hay, 
Dandeli'us  an'  fields  o'  green, 
Change  September  back  to  May — 
Jest  like  tradin'  sight-on-seen. 


Swan  to  gracious  !  'f  I  could  see 
Them  ol'  days  'an  be  once  more 
Somethin'  like  I  ust  to  be, 
Tough  an'  hearty  to  the  core ; 


116  GOLDENROD   AND    THISTLEDOWN 

Feel  my  pockets  bulgin'  wide 
With  the'r  load  o'  things  inside — 
Marbles,  hooks  an'  lines  an'  dried 
Fishin'  worms  an'  stuff — I-jing  ! 
I'd  jest  swap  the  years  between 
Now  an'  then,  fer  any  thing — 
Kind  o'  tradin'  sight-on-seen. 

'Taint  no  use  o'  waitin' !     Le's 
Natcherly  jest  amble  back 
Down  the  road  to  happiness ; 
'Long  the  ol'  foot-beaten  track 
Runnin'  up  from  Bingham's  mill, 
Through  the  Geddes  place — until 
Tired  an'  tuckered  out  we  stop, 
Zigzag  back  an'  forth,  an'  drop 
Down  acrost  the  Bishop  hill. 
Cool  our  bare  feet  in  the  grass, 
Where  the  beech  trees  lock  an'  lean 
Up  above  us  as  we  pass ; 
Sort  o'  tradin'  sight-on-seen. 


GOLDENROD    AND    TH  1STLEDO VVN.  Ill 

Le's  'xchange  this  feverish  life, 
Gallin'  care  an'  sharp  distress — 
Trade  these  busy  days  o'  strife 
Fer  an  hour  o'  idleness. 
Le's  stretch  out  an'  bat  our  eyes 
At  the  depth  o'  summer  skies, 
Where  the  turkey-buzzard  lies 
Anchored  in  the  upper  air ; 
Far  above  the  hilltops,  where 
Mingled  waves  o'  shade  an'  sheen 
Lap  among  the  gold  an'  green, 
Harvest  fields  an'  pastur'  lands — 
Tradin'  with  'em  sight-on-seen. 

Sort  o'  tradin'  sight-on-seen  ! 
'F  I  could  make  you  understand — 
'F  I  could  tell  you  what  I  mean, 
Step  by  step  an'  hand  in  hand 
We'd  jest  creep  an'  lazy  on, 
Down  the  wood  path  to  the  pon'- 
Like  we  done  in  days  that's  gone  ; 


118  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Stretch  full  length  upon  the  steep 
Overhangin'  bank  an'  peep 
At  two  pairs  o'  blue  eyes  keen, 
Smilin'  at  us  through  the  deep, 
Dim  an'  sleepy  water-screen— 
Tradin'  with  us  sight-on-seen. 

'Taint  no  use  o'  wishin',  though  ! 
Life  jest  hurries  on  an'  on — 
Ust  to  wait  fer  days  to  go, 
Now  it  seems  they're  up  an'  gone 
'Fore  we  have  a  chance  to  see 
Where  we  are ;  an'  there  we  be 
Glancin'  at  eternity  ! 
Yet,  if  I  could  have  my  way  — 
Gi'  me  back  the  fresh-mowed  hay, 
Dandeli'ns  an'  fields  o'  green  ; 
Turn  September  back  to  May- 
Jest  like  tradin'  sight-on-seen  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  119 


Pop-Paw  Time. 

A  \  J  'EN  the  hazel-nut  drops  from  its  rustlin'  pod 

An'  the  woods  're  a  painted  dream, 
Wen  the  sycamore  ball  at  the  season's  call 

Floats  away  on  the  dancin'  stream, 
Then  I  feel  like  I  ust  to  feel  years  ago, 

An'  I  natcherly  talk  in  rhyme, 
Per  in  some  way  I  know  by  the  marks  that  show 

It's  a  gittin'  'bout  pop  paw  time. 


I  can  see  the  bald  slope  o'  the  sand-rock  field 

An'  the  windin'  ol'  county  road, 
An'  the  patch  on  the  hill  where  we'd  eat  our  fill 

O'  the  best  ones  that  ever  growed ; 
I  can  see  the  ol'  fence  where  we  ust  to  rest, 

After  makin'  the  weary  climb — 
An'  with  silent  accord  we'ld  thank  the  Lord 

That  he  ever  made  pop-paw  time ! 


120  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Oh  !  we're  grizzled  ol'  men  who  were  merry  lads, 

An'  the  seasons  go  hurryin'  on, 
But  the  pop-paw  patch  where  the  red-birds  hatch 

Is  the  same  as  in  years  that's  gone ; 
An'  the  fall  wind  sings  as  it  ust  to  sing, 

Like  the  breath  of  a  distant  chime, 
An'  the  rip'nin'  fruit  is  as  sure  to  suit — 

Fer  it's  jest  comin'  pop-paw  time. 

Wen  the  world  appears  cold  an'  my  lot  looks  hard, 

An'  this  life  seems  a  tangled  snare, 
Then  I  gaze  through  my  tears  at  those  distant  years 

An'  I  lose  every  earthly  care ; 
Fer  the  heart  of  a  mortal  won't  go  far  wrong, 

An'  he'll  never  do  no  great  crime, 
If  he'll  think  o'  the  days  an'  the  wildwood  ways 

That  he  traveled  in  pop-paw  time  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


/No  Chris'mas  Like  Ther' 
Ust  to  Be. 


talk  o'  Chris'mas—  goodness  me  ! 
It's  nothin'  like  it  ust  to  be, 
When  me  an'  Hank  an'  Poke  an'  Jake 
'Ld  whet  our  teeth  on  sorghum  cake— 
The  kind  that  mother  ust  to  make  — 
Until  our  very  jaws  'Id  ache; 
An'  stand  around  the  pot  o'  lard 
That  she  'ad  hung  out  in  the  yard, 
An'  watch  the  doughnuts  bilin'  hard 
An'  lookin'  fat  an'  crisp  an'  brown, 
As  they  was  bobbin'  up  an'  down. 
With  dirty  face?,  greasy  paws 
An'  happy  hearts  we  waited  ;  'cause 
We  knowed  them  things  meant  Santa  Claus. 
Ther'  aint  no  Chris'mas  —  No,  siree  ! 
It's  nothin'  like  it  ust  to  be. 


122  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Don't  speak  o'  pies,  sir — mercy  sake  ! 
Ther'  nothin'  like  she  ust  to  bake 
Fer  me  an'  Hank  an'  Poke  an'  Jake — 
Ther's  Doc  an'  Sam  I  'most  fergot — 
An'  we  'Id  eat  'em  sizzlin'  hot, 
An'  cough  an'  choke ;  the  tears  'Id  rise 
An'  burn  an'  smart  our  hungry  eyes, 
Fer  eatin'  them  'ere  hot  mince  pies. 
An'  Chris'mas  eve  that  stingy  Doc 
'Ld  alluz  aim  to  hang  his  sock 
Right  underneath  the  wooden  clock, 
An'  in  the  center  o'  the  row ; 
He  thought  he  had  a  better  show 
Fer  Santa  Claus  to  see  it  there. 
Don't  speak  o'  Chris'mas  !     I  declare 
The  times  has  changed;  It's  plain  to  see 
They're  nothin'  like  they  ust  to  be. 

Don't  mention  fun,  sir!     That  'ere  Hank 
Was  up  to  ev'ry  sort  o'  prank. 
He  dearly  loved  to  tease  that  lank, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  123 

Impatient,  fiery-tempered  Poke — 

Who  didn't  somehow  like  a  joke 

A  bit  more'n  a  cat  likes  smoke. 

So  Hank  'Id  say  :     "  Poke's  sech  a  pig, 

He  thinks  his  socks  ain't  hardly  big 

Enough  to  hold  his  sheer  o'  things, 

That  Santa  Claus  at  Chris'mas  brings; 

We'll  have  to  take  some  straps  an'  strings 

An'  tie  'em  'round  his  trouser  legs, 

An  hang  'em  on  the  hick'ry  pegs 

Where  pap  hangs  up  the  pouch  an'  gun.'' 

An'  then  they'd  tussel !     W'y  the  fun 

O'  now-a-days — you'll  all  agree — 

Ain't  nothin'  like  it  ust  to  be  ! 

An'  Santa  Claus  !  I  ain't  no  doubt 
You  people  don't  know  nothin'  'bout 
The  time  we  had  a-findin'  out 
Who  Santy  re'ly  was  ;  fer  pap 
'Ld  rub  his  shins  an'  stretch  an'  gap, 


1-4  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDO  VVN  . 

As  if  he's  goin'  to  take  a  nap — 
A-thinkin  up  some  clever  trap 
To  git  us  youngsters  off  to  bed. 
An'  when  we'd  gone  he'd  up  an'  spread 
The  ashes  on  the  hearth,  an'  tread 
Among  'em  till  you'd  re'ly  swear 
That  Santy  had  been  walkin'  there ; 
An'  scratch  the  sut  all  off  the  flue 
To  show  us  where  he'd  wiggled  through. 
No,  sir,  ther'  ain't  no  times  like  we— 
But  p'raps  the  change  is  jest  in  me, 
An'  I  ain't  like  I  ust  to  be ! 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  125 


An  Ol'  Time  Volentine. 

T  T'S  nothin'  to  boast  of  n'r  what  you'ld  call, 

Nowadays,  much  of  a  volentine; 
But  sweeter'n  honey  an'  bitter  as  gall 
'Re  the  memories  it  brings  to  this  heart  o'  mine. 
Crumpled  an'  creased  is  the  tear-blotted  page ; 
Kind  of  a  musty  an'  mildewed  smell 
Lingers  about  it — the  essence  of  age 
Strivin'  the  record  o'  years  to  tell. 


Up  in  one  corner — all  splattered  with  blood — 
Cuddles  a  true  lover's  heart-an'-hand, 
Woven  so  close  that  the  fiery  flood 
O'  war  never  ruptured  the  brittle  band. 
There,  underneath  it,  some  writin'  I  view — 
Speakin'  as  only  such  brief  words  can- 
Dated  on  volentine  day,  sixty-two : 
""  This  is  my  answer — to  Bob — from  Nan." 


126  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

That's  what  I  sent  to  my  true  lover  boy 
Battlin'  away  fer  his  native  land  ; 
Wrote  him  a  message  o'  hope  an'  joy — 
Sent  him  a  volentine  heart-an'-hand. 
Oh !  but  his  purty  blue  eyes  flashed  bright — 
So  they  'ave  told  me — an'  sad  months  through 
He  kep'  it  concealed  from  his  comrades'  sight, 
Buttoned  away  in  his  blouse  o'  blue. 

Kep'  it  and  cherished  it  two  long  years, 
Carried  it  with  him  through  marches  an'  fights ; 
Baptized  it  with  kisses  an'  bathed  it  in  tears — 
Thought  of  it  days  an'  dreamed  of  it  nights. 
Then,  when  the  struggle  was  almost  done 
An'  the  people  was  liftin'  the'r  hands  to  bless — 
Jest  when  the  vic'try  was  nearly  won, 
He  gave  up  his  life  in  the  Wilderness. 

There  in  the  bullet- ploughed  thicket  o'  death 
Heaped  with  the  shot-mangled  Blue  an'  Gray, 
He  muttered  my  name  with  his  latest  breath  ; 
Then  by  the  faint,  feeble  glimmer  o'  day, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  127 

Scribbled  these  words  on  my  volentine— 
Last  loyal  thought  of  a  dyin'  man, 
Wrote  in  a  zigzag  an'  tremulous  line  : 
"  This  is  my  farewell — from  Bob — to  Nan." 

Years  'ave  gone  by,  but  I  keep  it  to-day 
'Long  with  his  pocket-book,  badge  an'  rings ; 
All  of  'em  sacredly  treasured  away — 
Bitter  an'  sweet  're  the  mem'ries  it  brings. 
Fettered  an'  bound  by  a  true  lover's  band, 
Hearts  may  grow  old,  but  they  still  beat  true  ; 
Only  a  volentine  heart-an'-hand— 
A  time-yellowed  hand  an'  a  heart  o'  blue  ! 


128  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Autumn. 

T  CAN  ketch  his  husky  whisper  borne  upon  the 
'          passin'  breeze, 
An'  the  echo  of  his  footsteps  as  he  steals  among 

the  trees ; 
I  can  hear  his  plaintive  whistle  as  he  winds  his 

distant  horn, 
An'  the  rustle  of  his  garments  as  he  hurries  through 

the  corn ; 
Fer  he's  comin  in  his  splendor — decked  in  colors 

rich  an'  grand — 
An'  he'll  bring  his  legions  with  him  fer  to  ockypy 

the  land, 
An'  they'll  plant  the'r  crimson  standards  on  the 

hilltops  overhead — 

When  the  goldenrod's  a  bloomin'   an'  the  shoe- 
make's  growin'  red. 

He  has  called  his  clans  together  to  prepare  'em  fer 

the  raid, 
An'  the  locus'es  're  busy  each  a  whettin'  up  his 

blade  ; 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  129 

While  the  wild  geese  speedin'  southward  pipe  a 

doleful  funer'l  strain, 
Per  grim  death'll  reap  a  harvest  as  he  follers  in  his 

train. 
Yet  he  tries  to  give  a  warnin'  to  a  few  especial 

friends, 
An'  the  light  an'  nimble  thistle-down's  the  messenr 

ger  he  sends; 
But  it  loiters  an'  it  tarries  till  the  precious  time  has 

sped — 
An'  the  goldenrod's  a  bloomin'  an'  the  shoemake's 

growin'  red. 

He's  a  comin' — he's  a  comin'  to  fulfill  his  cherished 

boast, 
An'  the  fields'll  flame  in  splendor  with  the  glory  of 

his  host. 
He   will    flaunt   his    gorgeous   banners    like    the 

vaunted  knights  of  old, 
An'  the  burnished  woods'll  glisten  with  the  glitter 

of  his  gold  ; 


130  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

But  a  somber  shade  o'  sadness  will  be  hoverin'  over 
all, 

An'  a  minor  chord  o'  sorrow  rise  above  his  martial 
call, 

While  the  winds'll  sob  an'  shiver  to  the  measure 
of  his  tread — 

When  the  goldenrod's  a  bloomin'  an'  the  shoe- 
make's  growin'  red ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  131 


Money  Musk. 

/^~\N  the  ol'  back  porch  at  Rugby's, 

Where  the  grapevines  clumb  the  eaves, 
An'  the  moonlight  slantin'  through  'em 
Fell  in  broken,  silver  sheaves; 
Where  the  smoky  torches  spluttered 
On  the'r  pegs  ag'in  the  wall, 
An'  the  whippoorwill  was  singin' 
In  the  poplar  big  an'  tall ; 
Where  the  bloomin'  roses  scented 
All  the  silent  summer  dusk, 
There's  where  Rugby  played  the  fiddle 
An'  we  danced  the  Money  Musk. 

I'ld  git  you  fer  a  pardner 
Ev'ry  time  I  had  a  chance— 
If  I  had  to  take  another, 
Then  I  didn't  care  to  dance  ; 


132  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

An'  y'r  black  eyes  snapped  with  laughter 

As  you  moved  about  the  porch, 

While  y'r  dark  hair  streamed  behind  you 

Like  the  smoke  from  off  a  torch. 

How  y'r  milky  teeth  was  shinin' 

Like  a  nubbin  from  the  husk, 

As  you  shook  the  floor  at  Rugby's 

To  the  tune  o'  Money  Musk. 

There  the  lightnin'  bugs  was  swarmin' 
'Bout  the  house  in  burnin'  show'rs, 
Like  a  storm  o'  sparks  a  fallin' 
On  the  fragrant,  dewy  flow'rs ; 
An'  the  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell 
Floated  down  the  grassy  lane, 
While  a  screech-owl  in  the  distance 
Was  at  work  predictin'  rain. 
But  grim  jealousy  was  tearin' 
At  my  heart  with  claw  an'  tusk, 
Per  you'd  danced  with  Billy  Johnson 
To  the  tune  o'  Money  Musk. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDO VVN.  133 

Can  it  be  that  forty  years  has  gone 
Sence  Harper  lean  an'  tall, 
Ust  to  nearly  strike  the  ceilin' 
When  they  shouted — "  balance  all?" 
Can  it  be  y'r  hair  is  frosted, 
An'  y'r  eyes  're  not  so  bright 
As  they  ust  to  be  at  Rugby's 
On  a  sultry  summer  night? 
Well,  I  thank  the  stars  above  me 
That  you're  still  my  Kitty  Rusk 
That  I  ust  to  promenade  with 
To  the  tune  o'  Money  Musk ! 


134  QOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


The  Big  Barn-Mow. 

r  I  ^HERE  was  rosy  hours  o'  sunshine  in  my  child 
hood  days, 

When  I  feasted  on  the  bright  an'  golden  scene ; 
There  was  dewy  hours  o'  shadder  'long  the  cool 

highways, 

When  I  lolled  beneath  the  hedges  dark  an'  green  ; 
There  was  happy  hours  o'  laughter  down  the  fern- 
lined  glen — 

An'  my  hungry  heart  is  famished  fer  'em  now — 
But  o'  all  the  treasured  places  that  my  soul  knowed 

then, 
I  am  longin  fer  the  big  barn-mow  ! 

Thinkin'  o'  the  moss-growed  eaves, 
Dreamin'  o'  the  garnered  sheaves, 
List'nin'  fer  the  tread 
O'  the  raindrops  overhead — 
Longin'  fer  the  big  barn-mow  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  135 

How  I  ust  to  love  to  nestle,  ou  a  warm  June  day, 
Where  the  wasps  had  built  the'r  nests  along  the 

comb — 

With  my  body  softly  cradled  on  the  waves  o'  hay, 
An'  my  senses  soothed  to  slumber  in  its  foam  ; 
While   the   fragrant  breezes  stealin'   through   the 

wide  barn  door 

Gently  dallied  with  the  curls  upon  my  brow, 
An'   the  chaff  went  wildly  dancin'  'crost  the   ol' 

barn  floor — 
Jest  a  dreamin'  in  the  big  barn-mow  ! 

Cuddlin'  in  the  fresh-mowed  hay, 

Up  beneath  the  rafters  gray ; 

Catchin'  what  was  said 

By  the  swallers  overhead— 

Dreamin'  in  the  big  barn-mow  ! 

Ah  !    them   precious  days  'ave   vanished  an'   the 

years  'ave  gone 

That  contained  the  fullest  measure  o'  my  joy; 
But  I'm  clingin'  to  the'r  mem'ry,  an'  I  still  dream 

on 


13(5  GOLDKNROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN. 

'Bout  the  barn  in  which  I  frolicked  when  a  boy. 

When  the  balmy  winds  o'  summer  stir  my  scant, 
gray  hair, 

Then  it  sort  o'  sets  me  thinkin'  that  somehow 

I  'ave  left  my  soul  entangled  in  the  cobwebs  there, 

Still  a  swingin'  in  the  big  barn-mow ! 
Swayin'  in  the  rus'lin'  breeze, 
Harkin'  to  the  dronin'  bees ; 
Shrinkin'  half  in  dread 
From  the  spiders  overhead — 
Swingin'  in  the  big  barn-mow  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  137 


The  Old  Brass  Band. 

I've  a  hungry  heart  fer  melody,  an  eager  ear  fer 

tunes, 

An'  I've  heard  some  touchin'  music  in  my  day, 
Fer  I've  slumbered  to  the  lullabies  the  night-wind 

croons, 

An'  I've  wakened  to  the  robin's  cheerful  lay ; 
I've  regaled  my  inner  natchur  on  the  red-bird's 

trills, 

When  the  sassy  varlet  ockypied  the  land, 
An'   I've  feasted  on  the  murmur   o'   the  ripplin' 

rills— 
But  they're  nothin'  to  the  ol'  brass  band. 

I've  rejoiced  to  ketch  the  whisper  o'  the  wind  swept 

leaves, 

An'  I've  shuddered  at  the  ocean's  angry  roar; 
I've  harkened  to  the  rustle  o'  the  golden  sheaves— 
An'  the  honey-bees  a  buzzin'  'round  the  door, 


138  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN . 

But  ther'  aint  a  note  o'  music  in  the  whole  wide 
earth 

That  can  touch  me  like  a  fairy's  magic  wand, 
That  can  fill  my  legs  with  ginger  an'  my  heart  with 

mirth 
Like  the  music  o'  the  ol'  brass  band. 

Ah  !  but  don't  I  jest  remember  how  the  Timms' 

Band  boys 

Ust  to  play  before  the  ol'  town  hall, 
Till  the  whippoorwill  was  drownded  in  the  waves 

o'  noise 

An'  the  liquid  notes  was  floatin'  over  all ; 
Till  the  children  left  the'r  playin'  an'  the  women 

stopped  the'r  walk, 
An'  the  lovers  strollin'  through  the  dewy  shade, 

Quit  the'r  gentle  cooin' — 'cause  they  couldn't  hear 

each  other  talk 
Fer  the  music  that  the  ol'  band  played  ! 

They'ld  start  with  "  Annie  Laurie  " — sweetest  tune 

I  ever  heard — 
An'  the  solemn  sounds  'Id  echo  far  away, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  139 

Then  they'd  give  a  taste  o'  "  Listen  to  the  Mockin' 

Bird," 

An'  they'd  foller  that  with  "  Darlin'  Nelly  Gray," 
Till  the  dreamy  notes  'Id  quiver  in  the  starlit  skies 
An'  the  people  held  the'r  breath  on  ev'ry  hand — 
Till  I'd  find  the  teardrops  tricklin'  from  my  half- 

shet  eyes, 
As  I  listened  to  the  ol'  brass  band  ! 

Ther's  a  heap  o'  solid  comfort  to  a  man  like  me, 
In  the  thought  that  when  we  leave  this  earthly 

sphere, 
When  the  golden  goblet's  broken  an'  the  soul's  set 

free 

We  shall  sing  the  happy  songs  we  sung  when  here  i 
But  I'll  never  be  contented  wtth  the  music  there, 
Though  the  golden  harps  be  pealin'  loud  an'  grand, 
If  ther'  aint  a  brassy  flavor  in  the  air  somewhere — 
Jest  a  mem'ry  o'  the  ol'  brass  band  ! 


140  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


That  Jolly  OP  Chap  in  the  Moon. 

T  T  E'S  a  prodigal  chap — is  the  Man  in  the  Moonv 

An'  I  can't  understand  him,  I  swan  ! 
Per  he  stays  out  o'  nights  from  December  to  June, 
And  he  squanders  his  change  till  he  finds  party 

soon 

That  his  very  last  quarter  is  gone  ; 
Then  instead  o'  behavin'  hisself  as  he  should, 
An'  reformin'  his  habits — as  most  people  would— 
W'y,  it  seems  that  possessed  by  the  spirit  o'  sin 
He  gits  ready  to  do  it  all  over  ag^in  ! 

He's  a  curious  critter — this  Man  in  the  Moon — 
An'  he  stays  out  so  late  of  a  night 
That  he  seldom  gits  home  till  the  next  afternoon, 
Lookin'  sickly  an'  pale  an'  as  wild  as  a  loon — 
A  dejected  an'  miser'ble  sight ; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  141 

Then    he'll  tumble  in   bed  an'   the   curtains  he'll 

pull, 

An'  the  next  time  you  see  him  he's  probably  full — 
Hidin'  under  a  cloud,  while  avoidin'  a  dun, 
An'  attemptin'  to  borry  a  light  from  the  sun! 

Yet,  the  Man  in  the  Moon  is  a  friend  to  us  all — 

He's  a  good-natured,  jolly  ol'  elf; 

But  he's  livin'  so  high  an'  his  sal'ry's  so  small 

That  you'd  possibly  find,  should  you  happen  to  call, 

He's  existin'  on  moonshine  itself. 

You  may  call  him  a  luny  ol'  rogue,  if  you  please, 

An'  insist  that  his  diet  is  limburger  cheese, 

But  he's  stood  all  the  shafts  that  'ave  ever  been 

hurled — 
An'  he  never  has  yet  turned  his  back  on  the  world! 

Ah  !  a  faithful  ol'  friend  is  the  Man  in  the  Moon — 
An'  he  never  refuses  to  lend ; 
With  his  face  all  aglow  an'  his  heart  all  atune 
He  will  grant  to  the  meanest  this  heavenly  boon, 


142  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN 

That  he'll  wait  an'  he'll  watch  to  the  end. 

In  the  lone,  silent  night  through  the  winder  he'll 

peep, 

An'  he'll  bend  o'er  the  face  of  the  dear  one  asleep, 
Till  a  halo  of  heaven  encircles  her  head 
An'  a  dreamy  smile  lights  up  the  face  o'  the  dead  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    TH ISTLEDOWN.  143 


Like  'er  Ma. 

QOMEHOW  things  jest  sort  o'  seem 

Like  a  misty,  hazy  dream, 
Sence  my  little  gal  is  gone — 
Her  my  heart  was  set  upon. 
Yeller  curls  was  on  'er  head- 
Golden  ringlets  you  'ave  said  ; 
Blue  as  indigo  her  eyes— 
You'd  compared  'em  to  the  skies; 
Pinkish  nose,  an'  right  beneath 
Rows  o'  white  an'  shiny  teeth, 
Dimpled  cheeks  an' — well,  you  see, 
Like  'er  ma,  an'  not  like  me  ! 

I  can  see  her  plain  to-day 
Jest  as  when  she  went  away ; 
See  the  smiles  that  run  an'  race 
One  another  'cross  'er  face, 
Up  an'  down  an'  everywhere— 
Hidin'  in  the  dimples  there. 


144  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

When  we  ust  to  take  a  walk 
How  that  little  gal  'Id  talk 
'Bout  the  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
'Bout  the  birds  an'  flowers  an'  bees  ; 
She  liked  purty  things,  you  see — 
Like  'er  ma,  an'  not  like  me  ! 


I  was  alluz  big  an'  rough, 
Sort  o'  made  o'  knotty  stuff, 
But  my  wife,  it's  mighty  plain, 
Has  a  some'at  smoother  grain. 
Fer  that  little  gal  o'  mine 
Was  o'  timber  straight  an'  fine  ; 
An'  her  manners  was  polite — 
'Cause  'er  ma  had  learnt  'er  right; 
Yes,  mam,  ma,"  an'  "yes,  sir,"  when 
She  was  talkin'  to  the  men. 
She  was  smart  as  she  could  be — 
Like  'er  ma,  an'  not  like  me ! 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  145 

But  my  little  gal  is  gotie — 
Her  I  ust  to  dote  upon  ; 
An'  the  world  looks  ruther  dim 
Sence  she  went  to  live  with  Him. 
Seems  as  if  the  sun  don't  shine, 
An'  the  posies  droop  an'  pine ; 
Days  're  long  an'  nights  're  drear 
'Cause  the  little  thing  aint  here. 
No  one  peeks  from  'hind  the  door, 
There's  no  playthings  on  the  floor; 
Life  don't  have  no  charm,  you  see — 
Hardly,  fer  'er  ma  an'  me ! 


14H  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


A  Memory. 

A  M  I  a  feelin'  lonesome?     Well, 
It's  ruther  hard  fer  me  to  tell. 
I've  been  a  settin'  here  a  thinkin' 
'Bout  the  weather;  sort  o'  drinkin' 
In  the  sunshine  an'  a  blinkin' 
At  the  landscape  ; 
Then  my  ol'  eyes  got  to  winkin', 
An'  a  haze  was  in  the  air — 
Must  'ave  been  some  teardrops  there  ? 
Mebby ! 

All  to  onct  behind  my  chair 
I  heard  a  noise ;  an'  then  a  pair 
O'  chubby  arms  was  'round  my  neck, 
An'  two  red  lips  ag'in  my  ear 
Was  murm'rin'  low  an'  soft  an'  clear: 
"  Gran'pa,  let  me  comb  y'r  hair!" 
My-o-my  !     It  took  me  back 
Along  life's  dusty  wagon-track, 
Down  through  the  shadders  thick  an'  black 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  147 

To  them  sweet,  lazy  days  in  June — 

Long  years  ago. 

I  thought  o'  how  we'd  rest  at  noon, 

Out  on  the  ol'  front  porch  at  home. 

The  swallers  hatchin'  'neath  the  comb 

'Ld  pant  an'  gap',  with  heavin'  breast 

An'  wings  spread  out  acrost  the  nest — 

Jest  sufferin'  with  the  heat 

That  beat 

In  fiery  waves 

Down  on  the  roof  above  the  porch, 

Till  things  seemed  hot  enough  to  scorch. 


'Twas  jest  one  stretch  o'  deep-blue  skies 

Without  a  cloud ; 

Ol'  Bose,  the  dog,  'Id  close  his  eyes 

An'  whinin',  snappin',  at  the  flies 

'Ld  try  to  sleep  ;  but  'twa'nt  no  go— 

The  little  mischiefs  pestered  so. 

He'd  wag  his  great  tail  to  an'  fro, 


148  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOW  N  . 

An'  gittin'  up  with  amblin'  pace 
An'  look  o'  misery  on  his  face, 
He'd  try  to  find  a  cooler  place. 
His  red  an'  drippin'  tongue  lolled  out, 
He'd  look  about 
An'  seek  relief. 

The  mornin'  glories  closed  the'r  cups; 
An'  me  stretched  out  there  in  the  shade, 
An'  jest  arrayed 

In  nothin'  but  my  pants  an'  shirt — 
Not  carin'  fer  the  dust  an'  dirt — 
'Ld  hear 

A  soundin'  low  an'  soft  an'  clear 
Upon  the  hot  an'  smother'n'  air: 
41  Say,  Jimmy,  let  me  comb  y'r  hair!" 


An'  then  I'd  wake  an'  roughly  shove 
My  long  hair  back  ;  an'  there  above — 
Like  wing-tips  of  a  snow-white  dove — 
Ten  little  fingers  soft  with  love 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  149 

Was  fondlin'  'round  my  sunburnt  face. 
Ah,  little  sister  !  years  'ave  gone 
An'  she  has  swiftly  traveled  on, 
Far  up  the  shinin'  golden  stair 
That  leads  to  heaven  over  there ; 
An'  yet  to-day  I  seem  to  hear — 
A  whisper'n'  through  the  atmosphere, 
An'  soundin'  low  an'  soft  an'  clear — 
Say,  Jimmy,  let  me  comb  y'r  hair !" 
I'd  better  come  an'  take  a  walk 
Around  the  place  with  you,  an'  talk 
O'  cheerfuler  things?     Well,  mebby  so  ! 
Jest  hand  me  down  my  cane ;  I'll  go. 


150  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


At  the  Country  Store. 

*  (  '""PHAT  tale  o'  yours  reminds  me  of  "- 

And  Jonas  crossed  his  legs 
And  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe 

Upon  a  box  of  eggs — 
"  A  feller  that  I  ust  to  know, 

His  name  was  Jim  Van  Horn, 
Who  cleared  a  twenty-acre  lot 

An'  planted  it  in  corn. 
So  far,  so  good ;  fer  corn's  all  right — 

A  ruther  payin'  crop, 
But  Jim's  was  that  'ere  triflin'  kind 

That's  only  fit  to  pop. 
The  neighbors  laughed  at  him  a  sight — 

He  didn't  keer  a  darn — 
An'  in  the  fall  he  shucked  it  out 

An'  piled  it  in  the  barn, 
Along  o'  several  bar'ls  o'  black 


GOLDENROD    AND    TH ISTLEDOWN.  151 

Merlasses  that  he  made — 
Another  one  o'  his  idees 

That  somehow  never  paid. 
Well,  one  day  Jim  fixed  up  some  trade 

An'  ambled  off  to  town, 
An  jest  as  he  come  home  at  night 

The  barn  was  burnin'  down. 
As  true  as  I'm  a  settin  here 

An'  never  told  a  yarn, 
That  popcorn  popped  so  tarnal  big 

It  swelled  an'  bu'st  the  barn ! 
It  sounded  like  a  cannon's  roar ; 

The  grains  flew  far  an'  wide, 
An'  one  ol'  cow  out  in  the  field 

Give  up  the  ghost  an'  died. 
She  thought  it  was  a  snowstorm,  sir, 

An'  yieldin'  up  'er  breath  ; 
She  shivered  once  'r  twice  an'  then 

Dropped  over  froze  to  death. 
The  popcorn  an'  rnerlasses  mixed 


152  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

An'  packed  down  in  the  stalls, 
An'  Jim,  he  cleared  a  fortune,  sir, 

A  sellin'  popcorn  balls!" 
Then  Jonas  caught  his  basket  up 

And  quickly  slid  away, 
For  he  who  lies  and  leaves  may  live 

To  lie  another  day. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  153 


My  Pa  He's  'ist  a  Docker-man, 

/\  l\  Y  pa,  he's  'ist  a  docker-man  ; 

An'  my  ma  said  to  me  one  day : 
"  Your  pa  has  goned  an'  tooked  a  bran' 
New  baby-boy  acrost  the  way, 
To  Mrs.  Giles  ;  an'  maby,  dear, 
If  you  be  good  an'  ast  him  to, 
He'll  bring  a  re'ly  baby  here — 
A  little  bruzzer  boy  fer  you  !" 


Well,  when  my  pa  corned  home  at  night, 

An'  put  his  slippers  on  an'  said 

He  guessed  he'd  haf  to  go  an'  write 

A  letter  'fore  he  went  to  bed, 

I  climbed  upon  his  knee  an'  'en 

I  hugged  an'  kissed  him  two  'r  free, 

An'  ast  him  if  he  wouldn't  sen' 

An'  git  a  bruzzer  boy  fer  me. 


154  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

He  said  he  would;  an'  'en  he  winked 
His  eye  at  ma,  an'  coughed  an'  smiled 
An'  said  he  kin'  o'  somehow  finked 
He  wouldn't  diserpoint  the  child. 
I  don't  know  what  he  meant,  but  ma 
1st  clapped  'er  han's  an'  'en  she  said 
It  was  a  splendid  joke  on  pa — 
An'  'en  they  sent  me  off  to  bed. 

Well,  when  the  baby  corned,  you  know, 
'Twas  ist  anuzzer  girl !  an  ma 
Was  ist  heart-sick  about  it,  so 
She  had  to  stay  in  bed  ;  an'  pa 
He  'lowed  the  folks  in  babylan' 
Was  out  o'  boys,  an'  so  they  sent 
A  girl — 'r  didn't  un'erstan' 
The  km  o'  baby  that  he  meant ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


The  Mitten. 

RAN'MAM  settin'  by  the  fire 

Wiped  'er  specs  an'  rubbed  'er  lashes, 
Hitched  'er  cheer  a  little  nigher— 
Dipped  'er  pipe  into  the  ashes ; 
Said  in  half  pervokin'  tone — 
As  she  wound  er'  ball  o'  knittin'  : 
"  Better  leave  the  gals  alone, 
'R  you'll  mebby  git  the  mitten." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "I  must  agree 
You're  uncommon  good  at  guessin', 
Pokin'  of  y'r  fun  at  me 
All  because  you  see  me  dressin' ; 
I'm  a  goin'  to  spellin'  school— 
My,  jest  see  how  late  it's  gittin' !" 
Gran'mam  said  :     "  Don't  be  a  fool, 
'R  you  11  mebby  git  the  mitten." 


156  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Through  the  medder,  down  the  road- 
With  the  stars  above  me  blinkin', 
I  kep'  tusslin'  with  the  load ; 
Keepin'  up  a  mighty  thinkin'. 
Here  was  purty  Lizy  Stone, 
Plump  an'  playful  as  a  kitten — 
"  Better  leave  the  gals  alone, 
'R  you'll  mebby  git  the  mitten  !" 

Wen  the  spellin'  school  was  out 
An'  the  boys  an'  gals  was  matin' 
I — a  wraslin'  hope  an'  doubt — 
Stood  there  like  a  dunce  a  waitin' ; 
Felt  my  face  a  burnin'  red 
While  my  heart  was  fairly  splittin', 
"  Now  'r  never,  Jim,"  I  said — 
u,An'  you'll  mebby  git  the  mitten  !" 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  157 

There  she  come,  a  purty  pout 
'Round  'er  rosy  lips  a  flittin' ; 
I  jest  stuck  my  elbow  out — 
'R  you'll  mebby  git  the  mitten  !'' 
Well,  I  fixed  the  matter  there 
All  in  'bout  a  half  a  minute  ; 
Got  the  mitten  fair  an'  square — 
But  er'  little  hand  was  in  it! 


158  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


The  Bumble  Bee. 

TEST  along  'bout  now,  while  the  skies  're  blue 

An'  the  winds  're  soft  an'  the  summer's  new,. 
'S  when  when  I  like  to  loll  in  the  medder-lot, 
'Fore  the  dew  dries  off  an'  the  sun  grows  hot ; 
With  my  face  turned  up  an'  my  arms  stretched  out, 
An'  the  clover  bloom  an'  the  bees  about, 
Till  I  lose  myself  an'  my  thoughts  float  free 
On  the  gauzy  wings  o'  the  bumble  bee  ! 

Oh !  there  aint  no  trouble  'at's  likely  to  come 
Where  the  clover's  green  an'  the  busy  hum 
O'  the  bumble  bee,  as  he  splits  the  air, 
Seems  to  rid  a  body  of  every  care  ; 
Fer  the  mind  gits  lulled  by  his  buzzin'  din, 
Till  the  sense  slips  out  an'  the  sleep  slips  in — 
An'  the  soothin'est  sound  in  the  world  to  me, 
Is  the  drowsy  drone  o'  the  bumble  bee  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  159 

'Bout  the  first  o'  June — 'r  the  last  o'  May, 
When  the  woods  're  green  an'  the  fields  're  gay, 
Then  I  jest  stretch  out  where  the  sunlight  spreads 
'Mong  the  dandeli'ns  an'  the  clover  heads; 
An'  I  listen  there  to  that  sing-song  hum 
Till  my  eyes  go  shet  an'  my  brain  gits  numb — 
Fer  the  soothin'est  music  on  earth  to  me 
Is  the  sleepy  drone  o'  the  bumble  bee ! 


160  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


The  Little  White  School-House 

the  wind-swept  top  o'  the  long  clay  ridge, 
Nestlin'  close  to  the  dark  green  wildwood, 
Where  the  beech  limbs  bend  'round  its  gable  end — 
Is  the  school-house  I  loved  in  childhood  ; 
But  its  chimbley's  gone  an'  the  walls  're  gray, 
While  the  moss  on  the  roof  is  showin', 
An'  the  cold  rains  pour  through  the  open  door 
Where  the  jimpson  an'  burdock's  growin'. 


In  the  flow'r-flecked  years  o'  the  golden  past 
There  I  played  as  a  barefoot  gypsy, 
When  the  wild  bee  bent  to  the  clover's  scent 
Till  his  wings  an'  his  legs  got  tipsy ; 
When  the  lazy  winds  swept  the  rioened  grain 
Where  the  cradles  was  brightly  gleamin', 
An'  the  sun-kissed  haze  o'  the  summer  days 
Bore  the  sound  o'  the  catbird's  screamin.' 


GOLDENROD    AND   THISTLEDOWN.  1<>1 

'Cross  the  'ol  stone  step  crept  the  brier-torn  feet 

O'  the  careless  an'  tardy  scholar, 

While  his  face  all  grime  told  o'  berry  time 

An'  the  patch  in  the  plundered  holler. 

Here  he'd  lisp  a  story  o'  work  at  home, 

In  a  way  that  was  most  surprisin'— 

But  his  fruit-stained  lips  an'  his  finger  tips 

Spoke  the  truth  there  was  no  disguisin'. 

In  the  medder  strip  jest  beyond  the  road 

Sleeps  the  form  o'  the  gruff  ol'  master; 

But  the  headstone's  gone  with  his  name  upon, 

An'  the  grave-lot's  become  a  pastur'. 

Yet  the  school-house  stands  like  a  veter'n  scarred, 

Fightin'  time  with  a  grim  endeavor, 

An'  though  warped  an'  bent  it's  a  monument 

O'  the  days  that  're  gone  forever. 


11 


GOLDENROD   AND    THISTLEDOWN 


Winter  in  the  Lap  'O  Spring. 

IT'S  the  most  pervokin'  nonsense 

That  I  ever  heerd  about ! 
Here's  the  dandeli'ns  a  bloomin' 

An'  the  Johnny-jump-ups  out, 
Here's  the  cherry  trees  in  blossom 

An'  the  blue-birds  on  the  wing — 
But  ol'  Winter's  still  a  lingerin' 

In  the  flow'ry  lap  o'  spring. 

It's  enough  to  make  a  body's 

Temper  fairly  bile  an  fizz 
Jest  to  see  that  gray  ol'  codger, 

Stiffened  up  with  rheumatiz, 
Ljmpin'  'round  among  the  posies — 

But  the  most  disgustin'  thing 
Is  to  see  the  dotard  lollin' 

In  the  lap  o'  rosy  spring. 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  163 

u  She's  as  purty  as  a  picter  " — 

Poets  say,  an'  praise  'er  form  ; 
Claim  'er  eyes  're  bright  an'  sparklin' 

An'  'er  breath  is  sweet  an'  warm. 
But  I  own  that  it  amazes 

Me  to  see  the  maiden  fling 
Both  'er  arms  around  ol'  Winter — 

I'm  a  little  down  on  Spring  ! 

W'y,  it's  set  the  people  talkin' 

'Bout  the  bold  an'  shameless  pair, 
An'  the  peach  trees  're  a  blushin' 

At  the  scanderlous  affair ; 
Wile  the  robins  're  so  'shamed,  sir, 

That  they  skeercely  dare  to  sing — 
Per  that  villian's  still  a-cuddlin' 

In  the  lap  o'  balmy  Spring ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    TH  ISTLE  DO  W  N  . 


"Down  at  Hughes's  Old  Shop. 

r~\OWN  at  Hughes's  ol'  shop  !     In  the  summers 

*— '          gone  by, 

When  the  pastur's  was  green  an'  the  tint  o'  the 

sky 

Was  as  meltin'ly  soft  as  the  color  that  lies 
In  the  love-lighted  depths  of  a  baby's  blue  eyes ; 
Where  the  brown  country  road  comin'  in  from  the 

west 

Met  the  one  from  the  east  an'  concluded  to  rest, 
Where  the  north  road  an'  south  road  both  come  to 

a  stop — 
There  us  boys  ust  to  frolic    'round    Hughes's  ol' 

shop. 

Jimmy  Hughes — the  big  smith — with  a  pipe  in  his 

lips, 

With  his  apr'n  tucked  up  an'  his  hands  on  his  hips, 
Ust  to  stand  in  the  door  till  some  farmer  rode  in — 
Then  the  bellows  'Id  wheeze  an'  the  work  'Id 

begin  ; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  1(''"> 


An'  the  sweat  drops  'Id  gether  an'  start  in  a  race 
Down  the  gullies  an'   seams  on  his  wrinkled  ol' 

face  ; 

An'  us  barefooted  youngsters  'Id  garner  the  crop 
O'  sparks  from  the  anvil  at  Hughes's  ol'  shop. 


Down  at  Hughes's  ol'  shop !     Where  the  road  up 

the  ridge 
Brung  the  peppermint  smell  from  the  Deaver  run 

bridge, 
Where  the  road  from  the  west  as  it  clambered  the 

hill 

Bore  the  rumble  an'  roar  o'  the  big  water-mill ; 
An'  the  north  road  an'  the  south  road  was  sweet 

with  the  scent 

That  the  dogwoods  an'  may  apples  lavishly  lent— 
There  we  ust  to  play  marbles,  an'  black-man,  an' 

hop- 
Step-an'-jump  'round   the  corner  o'  Hughes's  ol' 

shop. 


1R6  GOLDENROD    AND    TH  ISTLEDO  w  N  . 

There  was  little  Ti  Henry — a  big  one  fer  noise, 
Jim  Lutgen,  George  Teters,  the  three  Darnell  boys, 
Win  Rogers,  Wes  Bishop,  Gid  Newton,  Ev  Scott, 
Marp  Ellis,  Charl  Rivers — an'  some  I've  fergot. 
Oh,  yes ;  an'  a  feller — I'll  not  tell  his  name — 
Who  has  sence  tried  to  climb  the  greased  ladder  o' 

fame; 
But  they  say  he's  got  stuck  sever'l  miles  from  the 

top — 
An'  he  ust  to  make  rhymes  down  at  Hughes's  ol' 

shop. 

Down  at  Hughes's  ol'  shop !  When  the  mid 
winter  sky 

Is  as  black  as  the  night  an'  the  winds  whistle  by ; 

When  the  giant  oaks  shiver  an'  shake  in  the  blast 

An'  the'r  moanin'  complaint  seems  a  voice  from 
the  past ; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  167 

Then  the  ghosts  o'  the  days  that  're  gone  'pear  to 

creep 
From  the  dusty  ol'  shop  where  they've  long  been 

asleep, 
An'  the'r  tread  is  as  light  as  the  snowflakes  that 

drop 
On  the  Newton  Ridge  Road,  down  at  Hughes's  ol' 

shop ! 


GOLDENROD   AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


Easter  on  the  Farm. 

T    NEVER  think  o'  Easter  day 

But  what  my  mind  begins  to  stray 
From  present  scenes,  an'  slip  away 
Back  down  the  tangled  track  o'  years — 
Bestrewed  with  boyish  hopes  and  fears, 
Bedewed  with  sweet  an'  bitter  tears — 
Until  the  ol'  home  place  appears; 
An'  mem'ry  with  its  subtle  art, 
Begins  to  play  a  tender  part 
Upon  the  strings  o'  my  ol'  heart. 
An'  then — an'  then  I  seem  to  see 
The  dear  home-faces,  seem  to  be 
A  boy  again — an'  feel  the  charm 
O'  Easter  Sunday  on  the  farm. 

A  week  'r  two  before  the  time, 

The  price  o'  aigs  'Id  alluz  climb 

The  up'ard  grade.     u  It's  jest  a  crime 


GOLDENROD    AND    TH ISTLEDOWN.  16J> 


To  eat  'em  " •— mam  'Id  up  an'  say — 
"  I  only  hope  the  hens  '11  lay 
A  lot  of  'em,  to  take  away 
To  market,  fer  I  want  to  pay 
Fer  winder-blinds  'an  ev'ry  thing 
To  fix  the  spare  room  np  this  spring; 
You  boys  must  hunt  the  nests,  an'  bring 
The  aigs  to  me  before  they  freeze. 
Ther'  aint  no  use  to  whine  an'  tease 
Fer  Easter  aigs,  an'  whimper  '  please;' 
The  times  is  hard  an'  aigs  is  dear — 
You  got  to  go  'ithout  this  year  !'' 


I'd  wink  at  Hank,  he'd  wink  at  me  ; 
We'd  look  at  Poke  an'  find  that  he 
Was  up  to  snuff,  an'  then  us  three 
'Ld  hurry  out  beneath  the  sheds 
An'  hunt  among  the  carts  an'  sleds 
An'  thresh-machines  an'  wagon-beds, 
To  find  the  aigs ;  we'd  scratch  our  heads 


170  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

An'  scheme  an'  plan — an'  slap  our  laigs 
A-chucklin'  how  we'd  hide  them  aigs. 
We'd  search  the  dim  an'  dusty  mows, 
The  clover  hay  above  the  cows, 
An'  in  the  bin  behind  the  plows — 
Among  the  oats — we'd  dig  a  hole, 
An'  there  we'd  hide  the  aies  we  stole. 


Well,  when  the  aigs  quit  comin'  in, 
W'y  mam  'Id  scold  an'  we  'Id  grin, 
An'  pap  'Id  growl:     "  It  does  beat  sin 
About  them  hens;  it  'pears  that  they 
Are  jest  determined  they  won't  lay. 
They  're  no  account,  I  hope  an'  pray 
They'll  go  to  Halifax  an'  stay !" 
An'  mam  'Id  answer:     ''Good-land!    John, 
To  see  the  way  you  carry  on  ; 
But  then,  it  does  beat  all — I  swan  ! 
Them  hens  lay  on  an'  never  cease 
When  aigs  aint  worth  a  cent  apiece, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  171 


But  when  they're  worth  the'r  weight  in  gold 
An'  other  folks  has  took  an'  sold 
A  sight  of  'em,  we're  in  disgrace 
'Ithout  an  aig  upon  the  place  !" 


So  mam  'Id  grumble  an'  lament, 
An'  pap'ld  scold  an'  give  full  vent 
To  all  his  wrath  an'  discontent : 
"  It's  jest  the  way,  now  !     When  you  sent 
To  market,  you  fergot  about 
My  plug-tobacker,  I've  no  doubt, 
An'  here  I'm  'most  entirely  out; 
An'  then  you  might  'ave  saved  a  few 
Fresh  aigs  fer  Easter  Sunday,  too — 
I  don't  see  what  the  boys  '11  do." 
Then  we'd  rush  off  an'  rob  the  bin 
An'  bring  the  bushel  basket  in 
Chuck  full  o'  aigs ;  an'  mam  'Id  grin 
An'  pap  'Id  kind  o'  cough  an'  smile 
An'  say  he  knowed  it  all  the  while ! 


l~l'  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN 

An'  that's  the  reason  why  I  say 
I  never  think  o'  Easter  day, 
But  what  my  thoughts  '11  slip  away 
Off  down  the  traveled  track  o'  years- 
Made  musical  with  boyish  cheers — 
Until  the  big  log-stable  rears 
Its  roof  in  sight,  an'  home  appears; 
An'  mem'ry,  with  its  magic  art, 
Begins  to  play  a  tender  part 
Upon  the  chords  o'  my  ol'  heart. 
An'  then — an'  then  its  good  to  see 
The  dear  home-faces,  good  to  be 
A  boy  again  an'  know  the  charm 
O'  Easter  days  upon  the  farm  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  17.'! 

We're  a  Comin'  to  g'r  Show. 

[TO   THE   ( OXKKDKHATE   VETKKANS   OK   <!EOKGIA.] 


w 


E'RE  a  comin' — 
We're  a  comin' ! 
An'  I  write  to  let  you  know 
That  we've  saved  a  few  spondulicks, 
An'  we're  comin'  to  y'r  show. 
Not  with  musketeers  an'  drummers, 
As  we  done  in  sixty-four — 
Wen  Bill  Sherman's  Yankee  bummers 
Marched  from  Georgy  to  the  shore 
O'  the  big  an'  broad  Atlantic ; 
But  we're  comin'  by-an'-by 
With  a  han'  shake  an'  God-bless-you— 
An'  a  tear-drop  in  the  eye. 
Fer  we  hail  you  all  as  brothers — 
An'  I  write  to  let  you  know, 
With  our  sweethearts  an'  our  mothers 
We're  a  comin'  to  y'r  show  ! 


174  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

We're  a  com  in' — 

We're  a  comin' ! 

With  our  children  an'  our  wives, 
Fer  we've  forged  our  guns  to  plowshares 
An'  our  swords  to  pruniu'  knives. 
WVre  a  comin'  with  the  mem'ry 
Of  our  heroes  in  our  minds 
Growin'  greener  than  the  greenest 
O'  y'r  watermelon  vines; 
But  we'll  meet  you  an'  we'll  greet  you 
With  no  hatred  born  o'  war, 
Fer  our  souls  're  pink  an'  innocent 
An'  juicy  to  the  core. 
So,  we  hail  you  all  as  brothers — 
An'  I  write  to  let  you  know, 
With  our  babies  an'  the'r  mothers 
We're  a  comin'  to  y'r  show  ! 


We're  a  comin' — 

We're  a  comin'! 
An'  I  write  you  to  say 
That  we'll  twine  the  common  laurels 
O'  the  Bluecoats  an'  the  Gray 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  175 

'Round  our  hearts  in  union  garlands  ; 
An'  we'll  teach  the  world  to  know 
That  w'en  Georgy  has  a  circus — 
W'y,  the  North'll  see  the  show ! 
Fer  we're  jest  one  common  country, 
An'  the  banner  o'  the  free 
Shakes  its  starry  folds  above  us, 
"  From  Atlanta  to  the  sea.'' 
So,  we're  comin' — yes,  we're  comin' 
An'  I  write  to  let  you  know, 
That  from  Maine  to  Californy — 
We're  a  comin'  to  y'r  show ! 


176  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

Gran'pa's  Chris'mas  in  the 
City. 


\  A  ^'EN  Chris'mas  time  corned  routr  las'  year 

The  weather  was  a  snowin'  ; 
Nen  w'en  it  turned  off  sharp  an'  clear 
The  win'  commenced  a  blowin', 
An'  sent  the  snowflakes  whirlin'  by 
So  we  could  hardly  see  the  sky, 
An'  piled  the  drifts  'ist  awful  high  — 
An'  filled  the  roads  an'  hollers  ; 
Till  pa  'lowed  :     "  It  '11  make  the  train 
'1st  hump  'erself  with  might  an'  main 
To  keep  the  track  she  follers." 

My  gran'pa  lives  in  Clovertown  — 

An'  some  folks  thinks  it's  witty 

To  say  he's  'ist  a  "  country  clown,'1 

'Cause  they  live  in  the  city. 

But  we  live  in  the  city,  too, 

An'  wouldn't  know  'ist  w'at  to  do, 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  1~~ 

'R  how  we  ever  could  git  through, 
If  we'd  no  good  ol'  gran'pa; 
Per  he  'ist  sen's  us  lots  o'  things, 
An'  w'en  he  comes  he  alluz  brings 
A  basketful — an'  gran'ma  ! 


My  gran'pa's  'ist  the  bestes'  man, 
Ther'  ain't  no  one  above  'iin  ; 
An'  pa  says — u  Built  on  such  a  plan 
'At  folks  can't  help  but  love  'im." 
My  gran'ma's  mos  as  good  as  him, 
An'  kin'  o'  tall,  an'  stooped,  an'  slim, 
An'  says — "  My  eyes  is  growin'  dim," 
W'en  she  can't  read  the  papers; 
She  calls  me  "  precious  little  lamb," 
Nen  gives  me  tarts  an'  berry  jam, 
An'  laughs  at  all  my  capers. 


Well,  Chris'mas  eve  my  pa  says :     "  Rain 

'R  shine  I  think  y'r  gran'pa 

'LI  come  up  on  the  evenin'  train, 

An'  bring  along  y'r  gran'ma  ; 

12 


178  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDO VVN. 

We  won't  'ave  very  long  to  wait, 
'Nless  'at  pesky  train  is  late, 
A  wadin'  drifts  across  the  state — 
So,  hurry  'r  you'll  miss  'em  ; 
Come,  hus'le  on  y'r  things — le's  go 
Right  down  an'  meet  the  Z.  an'  O., 
An'  be  the  firs'  to  kiss  'em." 


Wen  we  got  to  the  station,  ther' 

Was  heaps  o'  ingines  shriekin', 

An'  smoke  an'  cinders  ever'wher', 

An'  car-wheels  'ist  a  screakiri  ; 

My  pa  says  :     "  W'y  !  the  Z.  an'  O. 

'S  a'ready  in  ;  I'd  like  to  know 

Wat's  come  of  'at  ol'  gran'pa,  though — 

Him  an'  his  traps  an'  gran'ma.'' 

Nen'  some  one  come  a  rushin'  in 

An'  chucked  me  underneaf  the  chin — 

An'  ther'  was  dear  ol'  gran'pa  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN  179 

Oh'  ain't  my  gran'pa  awlul  nice! 

He  picked  me  up  an'  squeezed  me, 

An'  says;     "Y'r  face  is  cold  as  ice  ;" 

Nen  pinched  my  cheeks  an'  teased  me. 

An'  'en  right  back  o'  wher'  he  stood 

I  saw  a  shawl  an'  quilted  hood, 

An'  heard  my  gran'ma — aint  she  good  !— 

Say  :     "  /  mils'  have  a  kiss,  dear  ; 

Las'1  Chris'mas  time,  a  year  ago, 

You  corned  to  our  house  through  the  snow, 

So  I've  corned  up  here  this  year." 

My  gran'pa  wored  his  shaggy  coat 

An'  great  big  wooly  mittens, 

An'  had  a  thing  tied  roun'  his  throat 

'At  looked  \-\ktfuzzy  kittens  ; 

His  cowhide  boots  was  greasy  black, 

An'  'en  he  had  upon  his  back 

A  fat  an'  shiny  carpet-sack— 

Oh,  how  his  eyes  did  twinkle  ! 

His  nose  was  kin'  o'  rosy  red, 

A  gray  fur  cap  was  on  his  head — 

He  looked  'ist  like  Kris  Krnklc  ! 


180  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

An'  Oh  !  the  time  we  had  nex'  day 

Wen  we  went  out  a  walkin'  ; 

Fer  gran'pa  he  was  very  gay 

An'  never  stopped  a  talkin'. 

We  peeked  in  all  the  winders  wide 

An'  bought  mos'  ever'thing  inside — 

'Nen  I  got  sick,  'ist  'cause  I  tried 

To  eat  up  all  my  candy ; 

An'  gran'ma  laughed  an'  'lowed  she  guessed 

At  Chris'mas  times  'twas  alluz  best 

To  have  a  doctor  handy  ! 


My  gran'ma  says  she  never  dreamed 

O'  half  so  good  a  time,  sir, 

An'  gran'pa  says  it  re'ly  seemed 

Like  ever\\\\K<g  was  prime,  sir  ; 

An'  'lows  'at  nex*  year  he'll  come  back 

Along  the  snowy  railroad  track, 

An  bring  his  shiny  carpet-sack 

An'  lots  o'  things — an'  gran'ma; 

An'  ma  says  :     "  Ain't  he  'ist  too  good ! 

I  don't  see  how  we  ever  could 

Have  Chris'mas  without  gran'pa!" 


OH! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  181 

Campin'  Out. 

the  peoples  all  'ist  crazy  down  to  our  place, 
an'  my  pa 
'Lows  they've  got  the  "campin'   fever;"  an'  one 

day  he  says  to  ma : 
"  Now,   don't  you  go  git  no  hifalutin'  notions  in 

yer  head 
'Bout  this  campin'  out  an'  fishin"    -'em's  the  very 

words  he  said  ! 
"  Cause  you'll  'ave  a  much  more  gooder  time  a 

stayin'  here  in  town, 
Nan  a  roastin'  in  the  bilin'  sun,  an'  traipsin'  up  an' 

down 
The  river  with  a  pack  o'  fools — an'  gittin'  sick,  no 

doubt ; 
Per  it's  all  dadburn  tomfoolery,  is  this  'ere  campin' 

out !" 

Well,  my  ma  went  on   a  sweepin',  'ist  as  if   she 

didn't  heard — 
'Cause  w'en  pa  gits  on  his  tantrums,  w'y  she  never 

says  a  word — 


182  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

But  she  kin'  o'  shocked  an'  chuckled  as  she  reached 

the  kitchen  shelf 
An'  tooked  down  the  brush  an'  dust-pan,  an'  she 

whispered  to  herself: 
"  I  can  see  he's  got  the  fever,  an'  it  won't  be  half 

a  day 
Till  we'll  all  be  busy  plannin'  an'  a  packin'  to  go 

way!" 
Sure  enough,  'at  night  at  supper  pa   'ist  come  a 

rushin'  in, 
An'  he  hollered  as  he  tucked  his  napkin  underneaf 

his  chin : 

"  Say  !  we're  goin'  out  a  campin',  little  woman  ; 
I'll  be  blest 

If  I'll  stay  at  home  an'  hustle  w'ile  Jess  Timms 
an'  all  the  rest 

'Re  a  lollin'  roun'  in  shady  tents,  an'  tellin'  fairy 
tales 

'Bout  the'r  suckers  big  as  sawlogs  an'  the'r  mud- 
cats  big  as  whales ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

We'll  'ist  pack  our  traps  an'  amble  off  to  cool  an' 

quiet  joys, 
An'  we'll  spen'  a  happy  fortni't  wiv  Jim  Mellor  an' 

the  boys  ; 
So  you  git  the  chil'ern  ready — here's  a  hiphurroar 

an'  shout 
Per  the  blue  ol'   'Skingum    River   an'    a  time  a 

campin'  out !" 

Oh  !    we  went  an'  had  the  goodes    time  at  ever, 

ever  was ! 

Fer  we  waded  in  the  water — 'ist  as  ever'body  does, 
An'  we  ketched  the  bigges'  fishes — mos'  as  long  as 

my  two  han's; 
An'  my  pa  had  his  bait  in  aywg",  the  uzzer  folks  in 

cans  ! 
Nen  at  night  we  all    'ist   tumbled   into  one  big 

sleepin'  tent, 
An'  my  pa  'Id  ast  my  ma  if  she  wa'nt  awful  glad 

we  went ; 
Nen  he'd  low  'at  way  o'  livin'  was  a  sure  cure  fer 

the  gout — 
Say !    we  all  'ist  had  a  lovely  time  w'en  we  was 

campin'  out ! 


184  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

'Course  the   san'  blowed    in    the  butter — an'   the 

skeeters  they  was  bad, 
An'  they  sometimes  pestered  pa's  bal'  head  till  he 

was  fightin'  mad; 
Nen  it  rained  one  night,  an'  pa  said  'at  a  reg'lar 

Noey's  flood 
Come  a  tearin'  down  the  hillside — an'  it  filled  the 

tent  wiv  mud  ! 
But  we  all  'ist  had  the  bestes'  time  'at  ever,  ever 

was, 
Fer  the  bloom  was  on  the  elders  an'  the  bees  was 

on  the  buzz ; 

An'  my  pa  says  'at  a  feller  is  a  good-fer-nothin'  lout 
'At  '11  stay  in  town  an'  swelter  w'en  he  might  be 

campin'  out! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  185- 


I 
•^ 


The  Ol'  Fence  *Row. 

ONG  the  ol'  fence  row,  'long  the  ol'  fence  row, 

How  I  love  to  wander  slowly  as  the  seasons 

come  an'  go  ! 
When   the   star-like   blows   're  glearnin'  from   the 

brier's  leafy  spray, 
An'  the  snowy   elder  blossoms  forms  a   fragrant 

milky  way ; 
When  the  wing-stirred  air  is  laden  with  a  thousand 

subtle  scents, 
Then  I  love  to  wander  slowly  'long  the  ol'  rail 

fence. 


Oh,  the  ol'  fence  row  !     Oh,  the  ol'  fence  row  ! 
I  can  see  it  it  as  I  saw  it  in  the  misty  long  ago; 
With  the  milk-weed  pods  a  burstin'  and  the  shoo- 

make  growin'  red, 
With  the  sassafras  a  sheddin'  spicy  odors  overhead, 


1<S6  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 

With  the  tangled  vines  a  creepin'  thro'  the  many 

cracks  an'  rents 
An'   the  fuzzy  catnip   growin'    'long   the  ol'    rail 

fence. 

'Long  the  ol'  fence  row,  long  the  ol'  fence  row, 
Many  winter  days  I've  traveled  in  the  freezin'  ice 

an'  snow. 
I  'ave  seen  the   faded  flowers  an'  'ave  heard  the 

chillin'  breeze, 
As  it  sung  o'  colder  weather  through  the  naked, 

leafless  trees  ; 
But  the  sunny  May-time  follered  with  its  balmy 

recompense, 
An'  the  path  was  green  an'  sinilin'  'long  the  ol'  rail 

fence. 

Oh,  the  ol'  fence  row  !     Oh,  the  ol'  fence  row  ! 
Seems  that  life  is  somethin'  like  it  as  we're  trampin' 
to  an'  fro ; 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  187 

Fer  the  blossoms  an'  the  brambles  're  a  growin' 

side  by  side, 
An'  the  daisy's  overshaddered  by  the  thistle  in  its 

pride; 
An'  to  keep  the  beaten  pathway  takes  a  deal  o' 

common  sense — 
Fer  the  track  o'  life's  as  crooked  as  an  ol'   rail 

fence ! 


188  GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN. 


He  Was  My  Friend. 

TJlS  presence  lingers  still  about  the  room, 
His  footsteps  echo  yet  upon  the  floor, 
His  cheery  smile  still  brightens  all  the  gloom — 

Though  he  has  hurried  out  and  shut  the  door ; 
And  biding  here  to-day  I  feel  and  know 

Whatever  way  his  fading  footprints  trend, 
A  little  lapse  of  time  and  I  shall  go — 
He  was  my  friend. 

He  softly  hurried  out  and  shut  the  door — 

And  all  my  soul  with  bitter  anguish  shook ; 

I  strive  to  pierce  the  darkness,  o'er  and  o'er — 
'Tis  not  for  me  to  know  the  course  he  took ! 

Yet  biding  here  in  grief  I  can  but  know 

That  blue  and  kindly  skies  above  him  bend, 

And  whither  he  has  journeyed  I  shall  go — 
He  was  my  friend  ! 


GOLDENROD    AND    THISTLEDOWN.  189 

A  little  lapse  of  time  and  then — and  then 
The  outer  door  again  shall  open  wide, 

And  I  shall  leave  the  busy  haunts  of  men 
To  overtake  him — journey  at  his  side. 

And  biding  here  alone  I  can  but  pray 

Whatever  fate  it  pleases  God  to  send, 

Oh  !  let  me  clasp  his  hand  again  some  day- 
He — was — my — friend  ! 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-50m-4,'61(B8994s4)444 


PS 

2219   Lapius  - 


L3lUg   -Idenrod  and 
Thistledown 


I1""  "n " 

000034497 


PS 
2219 


.-.«* 

<^      *fc   ifc 


